UC-NRLF 


$B    7b3    b7fl 


Z-t. 


I  si 


THE    OLD    RJ^GIME. 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 


OLD    PARIS:    Its  Court  and  Literary  Salons. 
THE   OLD   REGIME  :    Court.  Salons  and  Theatres. 


THE 


OLD     REGIME 


COURT,   SALONS,  AND   THEATRES 


CATHERINE  CHARLOHE,  UDY  JACKSON 


NEW  YORK 
HENRY   HOLT   AND   COMPANY 


T2- 


"  Le  dixsepti^me  si^cle  fut  I'^poque  du  g^nie  et  des  oeuvres  d' imagination  ; 
le  dixhuiti^me  fut  celle  du  doute,  des  recherches  et  des  sciences  exactes. 

"  Aux  elans  de  rimagination  succede  I'^mulation  du  savoir,  et  le  bel-esprit 
remplace  le  gdnie.  L'orgueil  humain  met  en  doute  tout  ce  qu'il  ne  comprend 
pas,  et  le  sifecle  savant  devient  sceptique." 

De  Tocqubville. 

"II  est  des  ^poques  oil  la  socidte  ressemble  au  festin  de  Balthazar.  EUe 
s'enivre  jusqu'au  reveil  terrible,  fatal  comme  les  lettres  de  feu  sur  les  murs 
d'airain." 

Capefigue. 


i 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I!XGB 

Introductory i 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  Council  of  Regency. — Lc  Due  d'Orleans  declared  Re- 
gent.— Courting  Popularity. — First  Acts  of  the  Regent 
— Golden  Opinions. — The  Young  King. — His  First  Lit-de- 
Justice. — The  King  and  his  Governor. — The  King's  First 
Public  Speech. — Popularity  of  the  Regent it 

CHAPTER  III. 

The  Regency. — Its  Ubcrtinage. — The  Regent's  Rou6s. — Seek- 
ing Interviews  with  Satan. — Madame  Lucifer. — Madame, 
the  Regent's  Mother. — Audacity  of  Voltaire. — Character  of 
the  Regent. — A  Boaster  of  Vices. — Yet  Generally  Popu- 
lar.—The  Regent's  Gallantry 31 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Un  Salon  trfes  Respectable. — The  Hotel  Lambert. — La  Mar- 
quise de  Lambert. — The  Palais  Mazarin. — Weekly  Literary 
Dinners. — French  Cooks  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. — The 
Wealthy  Financiers. — A  Party  of  Old  Friends. — La  Motte- 
Houdart. — Homer  and  Madame  Dacier. — The  Salon  Lam- 
bert.— The  Bureau  d' Esprit. — The  Goddess  of  Sceaux. — 
The  Marquis  de  St.  Aulaire. — The  Due  du  Maine. — A 
Desperate  Little  Woman. — Portrait  of  the  Duchess. — 
Genealogical  Researches. — Drowsy  Reading 29 

253688 


iv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  V. 

PAGtt 

Royal  Academy  of  Music. — Opera,  Paniers,  and  Masks. — 
"See  Paris,  and  Die!" — Watteau's  Early  Studies. — Cos- 
tumes a  la  Watteau. — Bals  de  I'Op^ra. — La  Duchesse  de 
Berri. — La  Duchesse,  en  reine. — La  Duchesse,  en  peni- 
tence.— Le  Comte  de  Riom. — Mdme.  de  Maintenon's 
Nieces % 43 

CHAPTER  VL 

Return  of  the  Italian  Troupe. — Les  Troupes  Foraines. — ^Vaude- 
ville and  Op6ra  Comique. — Winter  and  Summer  Fairs. — 
Th6^tre  dc  la  Foire  suppressed 52 

CHAPTER  Vn. 

Michel  Baron. — Bembourg,  as  N6ron.  —  Horace  and  Camille. — 
Adrienne  Le  Couvreur. — Ths.  Corneille's  "Comte  d'Es- 
sex." —  Baron  Returns  to  the  Stage. — A  Caesar;  a  Baron; 
a  Roscius. — A  Second  Triumphant  D6but. — The  First 
Baron  of  France. — The  Grand  Pretre,  in  "  Athalie. " — The 
Prince  and  the  Actor. — "  Mon  Pauvre  Boyron." — An 
Actress's  Dinners  and  Suppers. — Results  of  Popularity. 
—  Voltaire  and  his  Nurse. — Galland's  "Arabian 
Nights. " 56 

CHAPTER  VIIL 

Racine's  Academic  Address. — A  Political  Intrigante. — The 
Spanish  Plot. — Arrest  of  La  Duchesse  du  Maine. — Con- 
fessions and  Apologies. — A  Traitor  in  the  Camp. — A 
General  Lover. — The  Eye's  Eloquence. — A  Persevering 
Lover. — Results  of  Gallantry. — La  Duchesse  de  Richelieu. 
— The  Due  de  Modena. — A  Desponding  Bride. — A  Heart- 
\ess  Lover. — A  Learned  Academician. — A  Noble  Ba- 
daud 68 

CHAPTER   IX. 

Une  N6glig6e— Louis  XV.— The  Financier's  Wife.— A  Fash- 
ionable Financier. — The  Vicomte  and  Vicomtesse  de  F 
.  — John  Law, — La  Banque  du  Roi. — The  Mississippi 


CONTENTS,  V 

PAOR 

Company. — The  Rue  Quincampoix. — Cupidity  and  De- 
spair.— Grand  Hotels  and  Opera  Boxes. — The  Courtiers 
Pay  their  Debts. — The  *'  Regent "  and  the  "  Sancy." — The 
First  Blow  to  the  Syst6me. — Deceived  and  Ruined. — Law 
Escapes  to  Flanders. — A  Change  from  Paris  to  Brussels. — 
Order  out  of  Disorder 80 

CHAPTER  X 

Death  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. — The  Czar's  Visit  to  St 
Cyr. — A  Complimentar)'  Salutation. — The  Czar  Peter  in 
Paris. — Thirst  for  Useful  Knowledge. — Special  "  Inter- 
viewing."— The  Invitation  to  the  Ball  — Efifect  of  Peter's 
Visit  to  Paris. — Madame  de  Caylus. — Palais  Royal  Ban- 
quets.— B6chamel,  Marin,  Soubise.  —  Supper  after  the 
Opera. — Fashions  of  the  Period. — The  Ladies'  Toilettes. 
— Lcs  Belles  Dames  at  Supper. — An  Example  to  the 
Cxar 92 

CHAPTER  XL 

The  Turkish  Ambassador.— The  Turk's  Blessing.  —  The 
King's  Unwonted  Docility.— The  Young  King's  Amuse- 
ments.—The  King's  Pastors  and  Masters.— The  King  and 
his  Confessor.— Massillon's  Petit  Car^me.— The  Preach- 
ing of  Massillon. — Massillon  in  Society. — Villeroi's  Devo- 
tion to  his  King. — A  Youthful  Gambler. — Projected  Mar- 
riages.—The  Bulle  Unigenitus. — A  Very  Vicious  Bull. — 
Taken  by  the  Horns  —The  Marriages  Arranged 104 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  New  Cardinal  Archbishop. — An  Unwilling  Bridegroom. 
— A  Sorrowful  Fate.— The  Chateau  de  Rambouillet. — The 
Rambouillet  M6nage 116 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Madame  de  Tencin. — Gambling  at  the  Hotel  Tencin. — A 
Terrible  Reputation. — "  Le  Grand  Cyrus." — "  Le  Comte 
de  Comminges." — A  Delighted  Audience. — Voltaire  on  his 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGfi 

Knees, — Destouches  and  Marivaux, — Veteran  Leaders  of 
Society. — The  Literary  Menagerie. — Madame  de  Tencin's 
Suppers. — Up  to  the  Ankles  in  Mud. — Fontenelle's  Mis- 
take     I20 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Exuberant  Joy. — Dining  in  Public. — Public  Rejoicings. — 
Loyalty  still  Flourishes. — The  Mar6chal  de  Villeroi. — 
When  Louis  XIV.  was  Young. — The  Majestic  Perruque. — 
A  Grand  Seigneur  of  the  Old  Regime. — Fireworks  of  the 
Eighteenth  Century. — The  Young  King's  Greeting. — The 
Grand  Bow  Louis  XIV. — Villeroi  Dismissed. — Un  Abb6 
E16gant. — The  Bishop  Retires  to  Issy. — Coronation  of 
Louis  XV. — Death  of  Dubois. — Dubois'  Immense  Wealth. 
— Political  Lessons. — The  Regent  First  Minister. — Death 
of  the  Regent 130 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Monsieur  le  Due. — Taking  Time  by  the  Forelock. — The  New 
Limits  of  Paris. — The  Street  Lamp  Invented.  —  Dark 
Streets  of  Old  Paris. — Crossing  the  Gutters. — What  became 
of  the  Children. — The  Liveliest  City  in  Europe. — Shop- 
keepers' Sign-boards. — The  Lieutenant  of  Police. — The 
Terrible  "Damn6." — Police  Espionage. — A  Keeper  of 
Secrets 145 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Palais  Royal  Gardens. — Married,  but  Unattached,  Cou- 
ples.— Que  voulez-vous?  C'est  la  Mode. — La  Haute 
Bourgeoisie. — Ennobled  Bourgeoises. — Summer  Evening 
Strolls. — The  Chestnut  Avenue. — Expulsion  of  the  Infanta. 
— Supplanting  the  Bishop. — The  Regent's  Daughters. — 
Mdlle.  de  Vermandois. — Portrait  of  Louis  XV. — The  In- 
fanta.— The  Rambouillet  Circle.  —  Marie  Leczinska. — The 
Bishop  of  Fr6jus. — The  King's  Preceptor. — The  Royal 
Bride.  —  The  Young  Bridegroom.  —  The  Queen's 
Dowry X55 


CONTENTS,  vii 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PAGB. 

Sledging  at  Versailles. — La  Dame  du  Palais. — The  Queen's 
Secluded  Life.— Piety  of  the  Queen  and  King.— The 
Sound  of  the  Hunting  Horn. — The  Good  Old  Days. — The 
Rain  and  the  Sunshine. — Intrigues  of  Mdme.  de  Prie. — 
The  Bishop  Retires  to  Issy. — A  Domestic  Tempest. — A 
Scene  at  the  Theatre. — Two  Lettres-de-Cachet. — Paris- 
Duvernay. — Fortune's  Wheel  Moves  Round. — An  Old 
Normandy  Chateau. — Death  of  Madame  de  Prie 170 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Fleury's  Exonomy. — Mimi  and  Titite. — "Notre  Toulouse." — 
Mdlle.  de  Vichy-Chamroud.— A  Singular  Caprice. — The 
Epidemic — Ennui. — An  Interesting  Couple. — A  Desolate 
Normandy  Chateau. — The  Menagerie  in  Eclipse.  — 
Emerging  from  the  Cloud. — "  Le  Podme  de  la  Ligue." — 
A  Pious  Theft — A  Noble  Chevalier. — "  Rohan  je  suis."- 
Homage  to  Madame  du  Defiant. — "Adieu,  la  belle 
France." 182 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

Prayers  for  a  Dauphin. — The  Prayer  is  granted. — Louis  XV. 
a  Model  Husband. — Baron's  Final  Retirement. — Death  of 
Adrienne  Le  Couvreur. — Jealous  Rivals. —  Generosity  of 
Adrienne. — Burial  of  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur. — Voltaire's 
Lines  on  Adrienne. — Zaire,  ou  Les  Enfants  Trouv6s. — 
Grandval  the  Actor. — The  Prime  Donne. — Rameau. — The 
Abb6  Pelligem. — A  Musical  Cabal. — Voltaire  et  les 
Danseuses. — The  Apotheosis  of  Hercules. — Boucher's 
Painting  Room 194 

CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Drawing-Room  Picture. — The  Young  Comte  de  Mirabeau. 
— Rival  Gambling  Salons. — The  Foundling,  d'Alembert. — 
The  Irrepressible  Bull. — Mdlle.  Daucour. — The  Rich 
Fermier  General. — The  Hotel  La  Popliniere. — A  Scene 
of  Enchantment. — A  French  Mephistopheles. — The 
Banished  Wife. — The  Infamous  de  Richelieu 208 


X  CdJStTENTS. 

PAGE 

Usages  Contemned.  —  Popularity  of  the  Chevalier. — 
Peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle. — Charles  Edward  Arrested. — 
"How  Time  Flies!" — Public  Disapprobation. — The  Mass 
in  London— 1748 300 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

The  Salon  of  Mdme.  Geoffrin. — A  Graduate  of  the  Salons. — 
Marie  Th6rese  Rodet. — Les  Glaces  des  Gobelins. — A 
Constant  Dinner-Guest. — Anecdotes  of  M.  Geoffrin. — A 
Student  of  History. — A  Bourgeois  Household. — "La 
Fontenelle  des  Femmes." — An  Aged  Gallant. — A  Cher- 
ished Antique. — The  Pastorals  of  Sceaux. — "  Le  Grand 
Prosateur." — The  Well  of  Ste.  Genevieve. —A  Joke  of 
the  Salons. — Le  Sublime  and  le  Frivole. — In  Quest  of 
Conversation. — From  St.  Louis  to  St.  Honore 308 

CHAPTER  XXXL 

Madame  de  GrafEgny. — The  Duchesse  de  Richelieu. — A 
Death-bed  Scene. — An  Affectionate  Husband. — A  Visit  to 
the  Chateau  de  Cirey. — Knick-knacks  and  Objets  d'Art. 
— "  Lettres  d'une  Peruvienne." — "  Lettres  d'Aza." — M. 
de  La  Marche-Courmont. — A  Sensitive  Authoress. — 
D'Holbach  and  Helvetius. — Mdlle.  de  Ligneville. — A 
Philosopher  in  Love. — The  Physician  Helvetius. — A 
Rival  of  Voltaire. — The  Epicurean  Principle. — A  Grateful 
Annuitant. — Wonderful  Moderation. — The  Sweepings  of 
a  Salon 321 

CHAPTER  XXXIL 

L'Hospice  Pompadour. — A  Royal  Visit  to  the  Hospice. — 
Charles  Parrocel.  —  The  Flemish  Campaigns.  —  Abel 
Francois  Poisson. — The  Marquis  d'Avant-Hier.  —  The 
Little  Brother. — Le  Comte  de  Maurepas. — The  French 
Navy. — The  King  becomes  Sallow. — Le  Comte  d'Argen- 
son. — Madame  de  Pompadour,  as  Minister. — Brother  and 
Sister. — Le  Docteur  Quesnay. — A  Remedy  for  Low 
Spirits. — Lessons  in  Political  Economy 335 


CONTENTS.  XK 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PAQB 

Rousseau's  Prize  Essay. — Rousseau,  un  Vrai  Genevois. — Rous- 
seau's Theories  Refuted. — Voltaire  ct  L' Homme  Sauvage. 
— A  Morbid  State  of  Feeling. — Th6rtise  Levasseur. — Jean- 
Jacques' Second  £^say. — Diderot  and  Jean-Jacques. — The 
Trowel  versus  the  Pen,  — "  Le  Diable  &  Quatre." — 
L'Homme  Sauvage  in  Society. — **  Jean-Jacques,  Love  your 
Country." — An  Abjuration 347 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Anglo-mania. — A  New  Source  of  Favor. — The  Wines  of  Bor- 
deaux— A  Present  from  Richelieu. — Chateau-Lafitte  pro- 
moted.— A  Challenge  to  Burgundy. — The  Ecole  Mili- 
taire.— Its  Real  Projector.— L'H6tel  dcs  Invalides.— The 
Academy  of  Architecture. — The  Rubens  Gallery. — Vernet's 
French  Seaporis. — Jean  Honor6  Fragonard. — The  Painter 
Chardin. — The  Queen's  Oratoire. — The  Winner  of  the 
Grand  Prix. — Advice  to  a  Young  Artist. — An  Admirable 
Plan. — Funds  not  Forthcoming 357 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Madame,  La  Duchesse. — The  Promenade  de  Longchamps. — La 
Duchesse,  in  Court  Dress. — Complimentary  Fireworks. — 
The  Jesuit,  de  Sacy. — Give  Satan  his  Due. — An  Angry 
Woman's  Letter. — "Je  le  Veux." — A  Perfect  Picture  of 
Flora. — The  Queen's  Toilettes. — I  pray  you.  Sing  me  a 
Song. — Grand  Triumphal  Air. — A  very  Great  Lady. — 
Alexandrine  d'^tioles. — Death  of  Alexandrine. — Le  Comte 
de  Kaunitz-Rietberg. — D6sagrements  of  the  Chase. — A 
Martyr  to  Duty. — Kaunitz  at  Versailles. — An  Ally  of 
Voltaire 37i 

CHAPTER  XXXVL 

Cr6billon  and  Voltaire. — Voltaire  and  the  Court. — Crfebillon 
at  the  Toilette. — Rising  and  Setting  Stars. — Adieu,  La 
Belle  France.  —  Clerical  and  other  Cabals.  —  Lekain's 
D6but. — Voltaire's  Pupil,  at  Sceaux. — "Heavens!  how 
Ugly  he  is  !" — A  Stage-struck  Painter. — An  Unfortunate 


xii  CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

D6butant. — Belcourt  invited  to  Paris. — Advice  to  a 
Young  Actor. — Lekain  in  Despair. — Lekain  at  Versailles. — 
A  Discourteous  Greeting. — A  Triumph  for  Lekain. — A 
Reform  in  Costume. — Clairon's  Grande  R6v6rence. — 
Clairon   and  Marmontel. — A  Vexatious  Contretemps.  . . .   386 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

A  Musical  Squabble. —  A  Latter-day  Blessing. — ^Jean- Jacques 
on  French  Music. — Rameau  Converted. — Tweedledum 
and  Tweedledee. — A  Question  of  State. — The  Grand*- 
chambre  Banished. — "  Dieu  Protege  la  France." — Birth 
of  the  Due  de  Berri. — The  Harbinger  of  Peace 402 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Diplomatists  in  Conference. — An  Old  Custom  Revived. — ^A 
Projected  Dethronement. — Les  Abb6s  Sans  Fonction. — 
Babet,  the  Flower  GirL — ^Drawing-room  Priestlings.  —  A 
Pertinent  Quotation. — "  LeVoyagedu  Jeune  Anacharsis." 
— LaDuchesse  de  Choiseul. — L'Abb6  Barthelemy. — Mar- 
montei's  Plays. — "Les  Fun6railles  de  S6sostris." — The 
Shadow  of  Favor. — Marmontel  Consoled. — The  Comte 
and  the  Marechal.  — Frozen  out  of  Versailles 410 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Surrender  of  Port  Mahon. — The  Warrior's  Welcome. — The 
Macedonian  Phalanx, — Richelieu's  Intrigues. — Le  Mar- 
echal d'Estr6es. — L'Abb6  de  Bernis'  Suggestion. — A  Sad 
Catastrophe. — The  King's  Reply  to  the  Dauphin. — A  Per- 
plexing Position. — The  Prisoner  of  Dourlens. — "Nous 
avons  Deux  G6n6raux." — Discontent  of  the  People. — 
Royal  Economy. — Le  Jeu  du  Roi. — A  Startling  Event. — 
Fran9ois  Damiens. — In  Distress  for  a  Shirt. — Confessed 
and  Absolved. — Damiens'  Letter  to  Louis  XV. — The  Force 
of  Habit. — Execution  of  Damiens 423 

CHAPTER   XL. 

Voltaire,  en  Grand  Seigneur. — Voltaire  at  Ferney. — Pretty  Ma- 
dame  du  Bocage. — A    Pilgrimage  to   Ferney. — Death   of 


CONTENTS.  Xiii 

TAGR 

•*  Cher  FontencUe." — Walpole  and  Madame  du  Deflfant.  — 
"L'Orph61in  de  la  Chine."— "  L'Orph61in"  and  the 
Jesuits.— War  k  Outrance.— "  De  1' Esprit"  of  Helvetius. — 
Jesuits  and  Jansenists. — A  Grand  Auto-da-F6. — Philoso- 
phism  and  Loyalty.— A  Sojourn  in  the  Bastille.—"  He  is 
a  Strange  Man." — Philosopher  and  Critic 439 

CHAPTER  XLI. 

The  Battle  of  Rosbach. — A  Warrior- Priest. — Soubise  at  Lutzel- 
bach. — L'Aimable  Vainqueur. — Close  of  the  Third  Cam- 
paign.— "Liberty,  Equality." — Lc  Due  de  Choiseul. — 
Braving  the  Dauphin. — La  Divine  Sophie  Arnould. — 
Disappearance  of  Sophie. — Manners  and  Morals. — The 
Muse  Terpsichore. — The  Muse  at  Longchamps. — An 
Opulent  Danseuse. — A  Real  Sister  of  Mercy 45a 

CHAPTER  XLIL 

Lady  Romancists. — "La  Nouvelle  H6loise."  —  Gallantry  and 
Politeness.  —  Lackadaisical  Vice. — Madame  d'£pinay's 
"  Tame  Bear." — Le  Baron  Grimm. — L'Homme  Sauvage  in 
Love. — La  Comtesse  d'Houdetot. — A  Warrior-Poet  and 
his  Ladylove. — Le  Chateau  de  Montmorency. — "!6mile" 
Denounced  and  Burnt. — Popularity  of  "£mile." — "After 
us  the  Deluge." — "  Le  Contrat  Social." — "  I  do  not  Love 
You,  Sir." — Jean-Jacques  Marries  Th6r6se. — "Devil  take 
Pythagoras!" — Rousseau  versus  Ragonneau 464 

CHAPTER   XLIIL 

A  Humiliating  Usage. — An  Empty  Title. — Failing  Health 
and  Spirits. — A  Wearying  Part  to  Play. — The  qttasi 
Queen  of  France. — Manufactures  Roy  ales. — A  Distin- 
guished Artist. — Insensibility  of  Louis  XV. — "  Was  she 
about  to  Die  ?" — Death  of  Mdme.  de  Pompadour. — Engrav- 
ings of  Mdme.  de  Pompadour 477 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

•*  Ah  !  Poor  Duchesse  !" — MdlleLeEspinasse. — Singularly  Af- 
fectionate.— A  Tale  of  Sentimental  Love. — "  Behold 
Your  Queen  !" — A  Horrid  Thing  to  have  Nerves. — The 


xiv  CONTENTS. 


Aristocratic  Author. — L'Abbe  Maury's  First  Sermon. — 
Madame  Doublet  de  Persan. — Distraction  for  the  Dau- 
phin.— Death  of  the  Dauphin. — M.  Thomas's  Eulogy  on 
the  Dauphin. — Piron's  Tribute  of  Laudation. — Death  of 
King  Stanislaus. — Bossuet  Parodied 486 

CHAPTER   XLV. 

Birth  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte. — "  Forming"  a  Queen  of 
France.  —  The  Empress  Marie  Th6r6se.  —  Madame 
d'Esparb6s  Unmasked. — Rival  Intrigantes. — Noble  Hopes 
O'erthrown.  —  Retribution  Exacted.  —  Installing  the 
Favorite. — A  Favorite's  Privileges. — Enter  La  Comtesse 
du  Barry. — The  Hair-dresser  in  a  Difficulty. — "  La  Belle 
Bourbonnaise." 497 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

The  Dauphin  and  his  Brothers. — Arrival  of  the  Bride. — ^A 
Timid  Young  Bridegroom. — Les  Fetes  Magiques. — F^te 
of  the  City  of  Paris. — A  Terrible  Catastrophe. — Lamenta- 
tion, Mourning,  and  Woe. — Marie  Antoinette 506 

CHAPTER   XLVII. 

Stanislaus  Poniatowski. — Madame  Geoffrin  at  Vienna. — 
L'Autrichienne. — Mesdames  the  King's  Daughters. — 
"  Gros  Madame." — L'  Ingenue. — The  Court  of  the  Dau- 
phine. — A  Marriage  on  the  Tapis. — "  Nineveh  shall  be 
Overthrown." — The  Candle  Extinguished. — "Et  Pour- 
tant,  il  6tait  ^  Fontenoy!" 512 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

The  Last  Lettre-de-Cachet.— "  The  Rights  of  Man."— "The 
Crown  Chafes." — The  Young  King  and  Queen. — The 
Queen's  Coiffeur, — Hurrying  on  to  Perdition. — Visits  to 
Luviciennes. — The  Due  de  Cosse-Brissac. — Voltaire's 
Return  to  Paris. — Voltaire's  Reception. — Death  of  Lekain. 
— Les  Femmes  Philosophes. — France  Crowns  Voltaire. 
— Death  of  Voltaire. — L'lle  des  Peupliers. — The  End  of 
the  Old  Regime ,..,,..., 521 


THE   OLD    REGIME. 

COURT,  SALONS,   AND  THEATRES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 


A  FEELING  of  joy  thrills  through  every  pulse  in 
the  nation.  The  French  people  are  aware  that  their 
Grand  Monarque  is  stricken  down  by  disease  which 
seems  likely  to  terminate  in  death.  Deliverance  at 
last,  then,  is  at  hand.  Deliverance  from  a  moral  in- 
cubus, as  it  were,  that  has  long  weighed  heavily  on 
all  classes,  and,  ever  increasing  in  oppressiveness,  is 
become  a  burden  to  them  well-nigh  intolerable. 

During  the  past  year  the  king's  health  had  been 
visibly  declining.  He  had  undergone  also  unusual 
mental  anxiety.  The  expediency  of  nominating  a 
Council  of  Regency,  and  giving  his  legitimated  sons 
prominent  posts  in  it,  had  been  urged  on  him  with  ex- 
treme persistency,  by  Madame  de  Maintenon  and  the 
Duchesse  du  Maine.  They  suggested  that  thus  would 
the  recently  conferred  rights  of  those  princes,  who,  in 
the  possible  failure  of  the  legitimate  line,  were  to  be 
called  on  to  ascend  the  throne,  be  more  firmly  secured 
to  them.  At  the  same  time,  a  needful  check  would  be 
placed  on  the  ambitious,  even  criminal,  views  attrib- 
uted to  the  dissolute  Due  d'Orleans,  in  the  near  pros- 


:2l\     \;:    .^:         THE   OLD  REGIME. 

pect  of  his  assuming  the  regency.  The  king  adopted 
the  course  recommended,  to  free  himself,  it  has  been 
said,  from  further  importunity.  But,  as  if  foreseeing 
how  little  consideration  such  an  arrangement  would 
receive  when  the  time  came  for  giving  effect  to  it, 
Saint-Simon  asserts  that  when  Louis  XIV.  had  signed 
this  important  testament,  he  exclaimed,  ''  What  shall 
be  will  be  ;  but  at  least  I  shall  be  at  ease,  arxd  not 
obliged  to  listen  to  any  more  talk  on  the  subject." 

This  was  in  17 14.  He  had  made  these  concessions, 
then,  to  purchase  repose  for  the  brief  span  of  time 
that  remained  to  him.  But  he  did  not  yet  allow  that 
he  felt  any  symptoms  of  disease.  He  said  he  was  per- 
fectly well ;  he  indeed  resented  the  allusions  to  his 
impaired  state  of  health  conveyed  in  the  recommenda- 
tions of  his  physician,  at  the  suggestion  of  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  that  his  majesty  would  eat  fewer  straw- 
berries and  green  peas.  His  constitution  had  been 
vigorous.  Habitually  he  drank  little  wine,  but  he  ate 
voraciously  ;  often  in  the  course  of  the  night.  He 
had  always  had  a  very  large  appetite,  Which  he  still  re- 
tained and  continued  to  indulge,  not  only  with  im- 
moderate quantities  of  strawberries  and  peas,  but  with 
a  variety  of  highly  seasoned  dishes.*  For  another 
twelve  months  he  bore  up  bravely  enough;  neither 
discontinued  nor  shortened  his  accustomed  daily 
walks,  notwithstanding  uncomfortable  sensations  in 
the  legs,  nor  absented  himself  from  the  royal  hunts., 
though  he  returned  from  them  much  out  of  temper, 
being  prostrated  by  fatigue. 

But,  on  the  13th  of  August,  17 15,  still  heedless  of 
the  warnings  he  had  received  to  husband  his  failing 

*  Lettres  de  Mde.  de  Maintenon. 


TOUCHING  FOR    THE  KING'S  EVIL.  3 

Strength,  he  gave  audience,  standing,  to  the  Persian 
ambassador  and    his  suite,  and  conversed  with  him, 
through  an  interpreter,  for  a  considerable  time.     The 
next  day  he  was  compelled  to  succumb.     His  despotic 
will  had  subdued  and  crushed  out  the  spirit  of  a  great 
nation,  but  its  strength  was  found  weakness  in  the 
struggle  with  failing  nature.     So  the  Grand  Monarque 
kept  his  bed  that  day,  hoping  to  rise  on  the  morrow 
with  strength  recruited  and  well  braced  up  for  his  cus- 
tomary part  in  the  ceremonial  to  be  observed  on  the 
great  Fete  of  St.  Louis.     After  receiving  the  Euchar- 
ist, the  solemn  farce  of  touching  for  the  king's  evil  was 
then  usually  performed,  the  suppliants  kneeling  in  a 
line  on  either  side  of  the  corridor  leading  from  the 
chapel  to  the  palace.     As  the  shadow  of  the  superb 
Louis  fell  upon  these  poor  creatures,  and  the  act  of 
grace  conveyed  in  the  touch  of  the  royal  hand  of  the 
"  Anointed  of  the  Lord  and  eldest  son  of  the  Church" 
was  vouchsafed  to  them,  the  Cardinal  Grand  Almoner, 
with  attendant   bishops,  followed,  in  great  state,  re- 
peating the  formula,  "  The  king  touches  you,  may  the 
Lord  heal  you." 

It  appears  that  an  unusually  large  number  of  suffer- 
ing children  had  been  brought  from  various  parts  of 
France,  for  this  particular  fete,  as  a  favorable  occa- 
sion for  the  cure  of  their  ailments  by  the  royal  touch. 
Great,  therefore,  was  the  disappointment  and  despair 
of  the  friends  of  these  unfortunates,  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  the  ceremony  could  not  take  place.  The 
king  was  very  languid  and  weak  that  morning,  and 
his  physicians  declared  that  an  attempt  to  attend 
would  be  fatal  to  him.  To  weakness  succeeded  pain, 
but  it  was  not  until  the  25th,  though  daily  growing 
worse,  sight  and  hearing  also  failing  him,  that  he  would 


4  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

believe  death  to  be  so  near  at  hand.  It  was  then  tnat 
the  Grand  Almoner,  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  thinking  the 
occasion  one  likely  to  be  productive  of  much  spiritual 
consolation  to  the  ailing  monarch,  and  of  especial 
benefit  to  the  halt  and  the  maimed  who  sought  heal- 
ing from  his  touch,  mentioned  to  the  king  that  the 
presbytery  was  crowded  with  poor  sick  folk,  come 
from  afar,  for  his  Majesty's  Fete,  The  cure  of  Ver- 
sailles had  charitably  assembled  them  there,  and,  as 
means  offered,  was  despatching  them  to  their  homes. 
But  the  cardinal  interfered  and  prevented  this,  and 
obtained  the  king's  consent  to  the  ceremony  of  the 
attouchement  being  performed  in  his  bedchamber,  on 
the  morning  of  the  26th.  The  fatigue  of  it  was  so 
great  that,  although  his  hands  were  supported  by  the 
ecclesiastics  at  his  bedside,  it  was  not  fully  completed 
when  the  king  fell  heavily  back  on  his  cushions,  as  if 
dead. 

For  upwards  of  five  hours  he  remained  in  a  state  of 
utter  unconsciousness.  So  little  was  he  expected  to 
revive,  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  was  prevailed  on 
to  leave  for  St.  Cyr,  and  as  no  signs  of  returning  life 
were  perceived  after  three  hours'  anxious  watching, 
the  courtiers  who  crowded  the  salons  and  antechambers 
of  the  palace,  gradually  departed  to  fill  the  hitherto 
deserted  apartments  of  the  Due  d'Orleans. 

But  Louis  XIV.  still  lives,  recovers  from  his  length- 
ened swoon  and  inquires  for  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
for  whom  a  courier  is  instantly  despatched.  The 
news,  the  unwelcome  news,  swiftly  reaches  the  Palais 
Royal.  Immediately  the  worshippers  of  the  rising 
sun  fly  back  to  pay  homage  to  the  setting  luminary; 
whom,  in  their  precipitancy,  when  but  obscured  by  a 
passing  cloud,  they  believed  already  sunk  below  the 


TEMPORARY  REVIVAL  OF  THE  KING.  5 

horizon.  Versailles  again  swarms  with  anxious  in- 
quirers, and  the  Due  d'Orleans  is  left  once  more  alone. 
He  laughs  cynically  at  the  practical  lesson  he  has  re- 
ceived of  the  truth  of  the  maxim  of  his  former  pre- 
ceptor, the  Abb6  Dubois,  who  had  striven  to  impress 
it  indelibly  on  his  mind,  that  "  the  mainspring  of  all 
men's  actions  is  sheer  self-interest."  It  is  the  basis  of 
the  duke's  moral  creed,  that  virtue  is  wholly  non- 
existent, and  that  the  so-called  moral  qualities,  though 
invested  with  names,  are  but  the  sentimental  imagin- 
ings of  the  inexperienced  and  weak-minded. 

An  empiric,  who  had  treated  with  success  some 
complaints  of  the  same  sciatic  nature  as  that  from 
which  the  king  was  supposed  to  be  sufifering,  was  per- 
mitted to  prescribe  for  him  a  so-called  elixir.  Its 
effects  were  speedy,  and  apparently  beneficial;  a  satis- 
faction to  the  very  few  who  desired  the  prolongation 
of  a  reign  already  too  long  by  fifteen  years,  as  most 
persons  thought.  The  revival,  however,  was  but  as  a 
transitory  gleam  from  a  fading  fire;  the  spark  of  life 
was  too  nearly  extinct  to  be  rekindled.  Louis  himself 
was  quite  conscious  of  it,  and  expressed  a  wish  that  his 
successor  should  be  brought  to  him,  and  his  family 
assemble  around  him.  He  remarked  on  the  29th  that 
he  had  not  heard  the  aubade,  or  military  reueil^  which 
it  was  customary,  at  dawn  of  day,  to  play  under  his 
chamber  windows;  and  he  gave  orders  that  neither  it, 
nor  the  usual  daily  performance  in  the  Salle  des  Gardes, 
at  his  dinner  hour,  of  the  sixty  musicians  of  his  pri- 
vate band,  should  be  discontinued,  until  the  Grand 
Almoner  announced  the  administration  of  the  last 
sacraments. 

The  regret,  the  remorse,  said  to  have  been  evinced 
by  Louis  XIV.  for  many  of  the  acts  of  his  past  life;  his 


6  THE   OLD  rAgIME. 

injunctions  to  his  youthful  heir  to  avoid  treading  in^ 
the  path  of  vain-glory  he  had  himself  pursued,  and 
which  had  brought  so  much  sorrow  and  suffering  on 
the  nation;  his  recommendation  of  the  aged  Madame 
de  Maintenon  to  the  kindness  and  generosity  of  his 
nephew;  and  his  somewhat  specious  statement  to  that 
nephew  respecting  the  provisions  of  his  testament,  need 
not  here  be  enlarged  upon.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to 
repeat  the  speeches  attributed  to  him  on  his  death-bed. 
Those  stagey,  oratorical  death-beds  are  the  reverse  of 
edifying;  and  it  is  probable  that  the  king  was  as  little 
loquacious  as  poor  human  nature  at  its  last  gasp  usu- 
ally is.  The  Grand  Monarque  died  on  the  first  of  Sep- 
tember, and  the  announcement  of  his  death  "  was 
hailed  throughout  France  with  an  explosion  of  de- 
light;" for  it  was  regarded  as  the  end  of  a  public 
calamity,  the  removal  of  the  yoke  of  bondage  he  had 
bound  on  the  neck  of  the  nation. 

Such  was  the  agitated  state  of  public  feeling  in  the 
first  frenzied  burst  of  popular  joy,  that  it  was  deemed 
expedient,  in  order  to  avoid  insult  from  a  turbulent 
crowd  that  surrounded  Versailles,  to  convey  Madame 
de  Maintenon  to  St.  Cyr,  in  the  private  carriage  of 
Marechal  de  Villeroi;  also  to  post  small  parties  of 
guards  at  short  intervals  along  the  road,  to  protect  her 
from  ill-treatment  should  she  be  recognized.  The 
relics  worn  by  the  king,  and  which,  probably,  were 
her  gifts,  were  handed  to  her.  They  became  objects 
of  fervent  adoration  at  St.  Cyr.  A  piece  of  the  "  wood 
of  the  true  cross,"  amongst  "  the  best  certified  of  the 
relics,"  she  says,  she  presented  to  her  niece,  Madame 
de  Caylus,  a  lady  of  very  wavering  faith  and  worldly 
tastes. 


DESPOTISM  OF  LOUIS  XIV.  j 

Louis  XIV.  had,  doubtless,  succeeded  in  convincing 
himself,  as  well  as  his  subjects,  that  he  was  the  incar- 
nation of  glory  and  grandeur.  He  was  actually  the 
centre  of  authority,  and  the  possessor  of  power  more 
irresponsible  and  absolute  than  any  French  monarch 
before  or  since  has  wielded.  To  stamp  out  the  vigor 
of  the  nation,  to  suppress  the  slightest  manifesta- 
tion of  national  sentiment,  were  the  great  objects  of 
his  reign,  from  the  time  of  the  Fronde.  If  he  had 
acquired  little  else,  he  had  thoroughly  acquired  the 
art  of  reigning  with  despotic  and  uncontrolled  sway. 
In  that  sense,  and  in  that  alone,  Louis  XIV.  was  a 
great  king;  though  very  far  indeed  from  being  a  great 
man.  He  was  the  light  and  glory,  the  sun  and  centre, 
of  the  system  of  government  of  which  he  was  the  cre- 
ator. It  was  his  sublime  good  pleasure,  as  ruler  of 
France,  to  be  all  things  to  all  men;  to  allow  them  no 
will  of  their  own,  but  to  make  his  the  pivot  on  which 
opinion  and  feeling  throughout  the  nation  should 
turn.  And  he  succeeded;  so  readily  do  the  French 
yield  to  a  high-handed  despot.  Men  fell  into  the  habit 
of  saying,  "  May  his  majesty  guard  me  against  it,"  in- 
stead of,  "  God  forbid,"  and  generally  of  speaking  of 
their  Grand  Monarque  with  far  more  humility  and  rev- 
erence than  of  the  Ruler  of  the  universe.  ^^L'etat, 
c'etaitlui — La  France,  c'etaitlui'' — La patrie  had  become 
an  obsolete  term,  merged  in  that  of  "  Le  Roi." 

The  dissolute  pleasures  of  his  younger  days,  when 
vice  was  so  exquisitely  varnished  that  it  was  said  to 
have  put  on  the  dignified  aspect  of  virtue,  naturally, 
with  advancing  years,  grew  less  attractive  to  him.  He 
turned  then  to  devotion.  His  court  followed  suit. 
Piety  was  the  fashion;    even    the   bourgeoisie   became 


g  TBE   OLD  REGIME. 

more  devout,  and  all  who  aspired  to  win  favor  wore  a 
sanctimonious  air. 

"  Lorsque  le  grand  Louis  brMa  d'un  tendre  amour, 
Paris  devint  Cythere,  et  tout  suivit  la  cour; 
Quand  il  se  fit  d6v6t,  ardent  a  la  pri^re, 
Tout  z61e  citadin  marmota  son  br6viaire." 

Eptt.  du  Gd.  Frederic* 

Primness  was  good  taste  with  the  beauties  of  the 
day,  who,  however,  contrived  to  invest  it  with  a  cer- 
tain air  of  mockery  that  was  very  coquettish,  and  very 
effective  under  a  "  sad-colored  "  coiffe.  Court  balls 
were  not  wholly  given  up;  they  were  only  less  fre- 
quent, and  the  hours  devoted  to  them  fewer;  perhaps 
because  they  were  somewhat  formal  and  dull,  not- 
withstanding the  romping  and  boisterous  gayety  of 
the  young  Duchess  of  Burgundy.  State  concerts  also 
sometimes  took  place.  Madame  de  Maintenon  would 
have  had  them  solely  devoted  to  the  singing  of  the 
canticles  of  the  Church.  But  Louis  was,  in  this 
respect,  less  rigid  than  she.  He  still  loved  to  hear  his 
own  praises,  and  to  sing  them  himself,  in  the  fulsome 
verses  of  Quinault,  set  to  music  by  Lulli.  Lulli's  music 
was  then  thought  rather  out  of  date,  but  the  king,  who 
piqued  himself  on  his  musical  taste,  would  listen  to 
the  works  of  no  other  composer,  ignoring  altogether 
the  rising  reputation  of  Compra  and  Rameau. 

In  the  absence  of  other  excitement,  play  was  pursued 
with  increased  avidity.  The  stakes  were  higher,  the 
losses  more  ruinous.  It  should  be  remembered  that  it 
was  when  piety  was  most  in  favor  with  Louis  XIV., 
the  greatest  roue  of  the  eighteenth  century  made  his 

*  "  When  Louis  the  great  was  in  love,  Paris  became   Cythera; 
When  he  became  devout,  every  citizen  murmured  a  prayer.' 


VN  LETTREDE-CACMET,  ^ 

d/but  at  Marly,  and  was  petted  and  caressed  by  the 
whole  court,  including  both  Madame  de  Maintenon 
and  the  king.  "  He  is  a  prodigy,"  writes  the  former; 
"he  is  the  dearest  doll  in  the  world."  This  prodigy 
was  the  young  Due  de  Fronsac,  afterwards  de  Riche- 
lieu— a  libertine  from  his  youth.  He  danced,  we  are 
told,  with  wonderful  grace;  fenced  with  inimitable 
skill;  rode  with  the  ease  and  dashing  bearing  of  an 
accomplished  cavalier;  and  sought  the  good  graces 
of  the  ladies  with  extraordinary  success.  The  pious 
court  of  Marly  was  the  real  scene  of  "  Les  premiers 
amours  de  Richelieu."  He  was  then  in  his  fifteenth 
year. 

From  twenty  to  thirty  thousand  francs  were  lost  by 
this  brilliant  youth  in  the  course  of  an  evening  at  a 
t^te-(t~t^te  game  of  cards.  He  made  love  with  exceed- 
ing persistency  to  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy,  who  at 
least  appears  to  have  been  amused  by  it,  and  to  have 
smiled  so  graciously  upon  him  that  it  gave  rise  to 
many  jests,  which  reached  the  king's  ears  and  dis- 
pleased him  extremely.  Idle  tongues  were  immedi- 
ately silenced;  and  this  dangerous  young  gentleman 
— already  married  to  Mdlle.  de  Noailles — was  dismissed 
the  court.  A  lettre-de-cachet,  enclosed  in  a  letter  of 
strong  complaint,  was  despatched  to  his  father,  who 
himself  took  charge  of  his  hopeful  son,  and  conveyed 
him  to  the  Bastille.  To  amuse  him,  for  inability  to 
ramble  about  Paris  was  his  only  punishment,  a  clever, 
pleasant-tempered  Abbe  was  sent  to  him,  as  companion 
and  tutor.  During  his  confinement  he  acquired  some 
notions  of  reading  and  writing,  and,  assisted  by  the 
Abbe,  was  supposed  to  have  translated  Virgil.  De 
Fronsac  was  not  a  solitary  instance  of  vicious  propen- 
sities in  the   rising   generation    of   courtiers   at    that 


to  THE  OLD  rAgIME. 

period  of  hypocritical  devotion.  Many  of  the  young 
nobility  resembled  him,  and  were  looking  forward  no 
less  anxiously  than  the  bourgeoisie  for  the  ardently  de- 
sired liberty  then  anticipated  from  a  change  of  rulers. 

Famine  and  pestilence,  meanwhile,  were  frequent  in 
the  provinces,  and  their  victims  were  numerous.  Dis- 
tress was  general,  and  so  extremely  severe  during  the 
terrible  winter  of  1709-10,  that  of  the  mass  of  the 
French  people  a  large  proportion  could  scarcely  obtain 
bread  to  appease  hunger.  Yet  letters  and  memoirs 
attest  that  the  king  was  as  selfishly  extravagant  and 
reckless  in  expenditure  as  ever.  New  taxes  were  im- 
posed on  the  suffering  people,  for  the  State's  coffers 
were  empty.  The  needs  of  the  king  and  his  armies 
were  pressing,  and  money  must  be  wrung  from  some 
quarter.  Were  not  the  possessions  of  his  subjects  his 
to  their  last  ecu  ? — the  control  of  their  purses,  no  less 
than  the  control  of  their  consciences,  the  indisputable 
prerogative  of  his  kingly  power?  Louis  XIV.  was 
convinced  that  it  was  so.  Yet  he  conscientiously 
sought  for  his  conviction  the  sanction  of  high  ecclesi- 
astical authority. 

"  Mankind,"  says  Dr.  Moore,  "  are  governed  by  force 
and  opinion.  They  were  the  agents  made  use  of  by 
Louis  XIV.  in  a  supreme  degree.  Aided  by  them  he 
had  brought  his  subjects  to  submit  with  alacrity  to 
heavier  exactions  than  were  ever  wrung  by  tyranny 
from  man."  But  although  national  pride,  love  of  in- 
dependence, and  every  noble  and  elevating  sentiment 
seemed  to  be  extinguished  in  France,  yet,  as  the  reign 
of  Louis  XIV.  drew  towards  its  close,  the  misery  and 
ruin  he  had  wrought  in  the  land  kindled  in  men's 
hearts  the  fire  of  an  intense  hate,  a  feverish  impatience 
of  the  existing  order  of  things,  and  an  ardent  longing 


FUNERAL   OF  LOUIS  XIV.  \\ 

for  the  end  of  it.  No  wonder,  then,  that  when  the  end 
came  it  was  hailed  throughout  the  land  with  delirious 
joy,  and  that  the  people,  as  with  one  voice,  shouted 
thanksgiving  to  God  for  the  deliverance  vouchsafed 
to  them. 

To  the  infant  prince  who  succeeded  him,  Louis  XIV. 
left  a  kingdom  drained  to  the  utmost  of  its  resources; 
an  empty  treasury,  and  a  debt  of  near  two  hundred 
millions  sterling;  lands  ravaged  by  foreign  foes;  com- 
merce destroyed,  and  once  flourishing  manufactures 
extinct.  In  the  ruined  provinces,  a  despairing,  de- 
pressed population;  and  amongst  the  enervated  and 
corrupt  aristocracy,  reared  amidst  the  idle  pleasures 
of  a  vicious,  hypocritical  court,  not  one  able  statesman 
to  take  the  helm  of  a  government,  long  isolated  in  the 
person  of  an  absolute  ruler  whose  place  was  now  filled 
by  so  feeble  an  image  of  royalty. 

Louis  XIV.  left  his  heart  to  the  Jesuits.  His  body, 
on  the  9th  of  September,  was  borne  with  little  cere- 
mony to  the  Abbey  of  St.  Denis.  As  at  the  funeral 
of  his  father,  near  seventy-three  years  before,  "  the 
people" — to  use  the  words  of  Tallemant  des  Reaux  on 
that  occasion — "  followed  as  joyously  as  though  going 
to  a  wedding."  But  even  greater  indecorum  was  antici- 
pated. In  consequence,  the  funeral  procession,  forsak- 
ing the  high-road,  reached  St.  Denis  by  the  way  of  the 
fields  and  by-paths.  A  frantic  multitude  had  assem- 
bled in  the  faubourg,  and  received  "  with  gibes  and 
curses  the  coffin  of  the  conqueror,  whom  they  accused 
of  being  the  cause  of  their  troubles,  and  of  wars  which 
sprang  only  from  his  arrogance,  ambition,  and  injus- 
tice." *     Throughout  the  day  a  sort  of  fair  was  held 

*  Soulavie. 


t±  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

on  the  square  near  the  abbaye,  and  dancing  and  sing- 
ing, drinking  and  jesting,  were  kept  up  with  vociferous 
glee  until  nightfall.  "  One  would  have  thought,"  says 
De  Tocqueville,  "  that  the  license  of  the/<?///^  soupers  of 
the  regency  was  already  descending  on  the  public 
square." 

Thus,  preluding,  as  it  were,  to  that  ferociously  in- 
sane joy  with  which,  eighty  years  later  on,  his  tomb 
was  violated  and  his  ashes  scattered  to  the  wind,  was 
celebrated  the  passing  away  of  the  Grand  Monarque, 
and,  with  it,  as  it  is  customary  to  say,  the  grandeur 
and  glory  of  the  old  French  Monarchy.  The  revolu- 
tion to  be  accomplished  towards  the  end  of  the  cen- 
tury may  be  said  to  have  begun  at  this  time.  The 
intervening  period,  though  too  generally  characterized 
by  frivolity  and  freedom — even  license — in  the  man- 
ners of  the  day,  was,  nevertheless,  in  its  social  aspects 
often  animated  and  dramatic.  Distinct,  be  it  observed, 
from  those  political  events  and  changes  of  government 
which  led  to  anarchy,  strife,  and  bloodshed,  and  event- 
ually to  the  overthrow  of  the  monarchy.  These  are 
matters  to  be  left  to  the  grave  historian  to  descant 
upon.  Here  they  need  be  but  very  cursorily  glanced 
at;  it  being  attempted  only  in  the  following  pages  to 
present  a  brief  sketch  of  the  society  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  in  its  various  phases,  from  the  death  of  Louis 
XIV.  to  the  fall  of  absolutism  and  the  old  French 
Regime,  in  the  person  of  Louis  XVL  and  of  Marie 
Antoinette. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  Council  of  Regenqr. — Lc  Due  d'Orleans  declared  Regent. — 
Courting  Popularity. — First  Acts  of  the  Regent. — Golden 
Opinions. — The  Young  King. — His  First  Lit-de-Justice. — 
The  King  and  his  Governor. — The  King's  First  Public 
Speech. — Popularity  of  the  Regent. 

Louis  XIV.  died  in  the  evening ;  and  as  in  the 
two  preceding  reigns,  beginning  also  with  a  re- 
gency, no  time  was  lost  in  summoning  the  Parliament. 
That  judicial  body  assembled  before  ten  the  next 
morning,  when  the  princes  of  the  blood,  the  peers  of 
the  realm,  and  a  brilliant  military  corUge^  accompanied 
the  Due  d'Orleans  to  a  seatue  of  the  house  of  peers. 
Many  were  the  protestations,  on  the  part  of  the  duke, 
of  his  excellent  intentions  towards  the  country;  of  his 
anxiety  for  the  preservation  of  the  life,  and  zeal  for 
the  welfare,  of  the  young  king.  He  also  expressed  a 
desire  to  be  guided  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  arduous 
duties  by  the  enlightened  counsels  and,  if  needed,  sage 
remonstrances  of  the  august  Parliament  there  assem- 
bled.    The  testament  of  Louis  XIV.  was  then  opened. 

Great  surprise  was  evinced,  and  perhaps  felt,  by 
some  few  who  had  listened  to  the  duke's  profuse 
promises  of  using  the  great  power  confided  to  him 
wisely,  when  it  was  found  that  by  the  late  king's  will 
he  was  appointed  president  only  of  a  Council  of 
Regency.  The  Parliament,  therefore — whose  most 
influential  members  had  been  gained  over  by  the  duke's 
partisans — being   invested,   as   before,   with  supreme 


14  THE   OLD  KJ^GIME. 

authority  for  the  occasion,  at  once  proceeded  to  dis- 
cuss the  expediency  of  setting  aside  the  testament  of 
their  Grand  Monarque.  Its  most  important  provisions 
were  pronounced  illegal;  no  less  contrary  to  all  pre- 
cedent than  to  the  statutes  of  the  realm.  The  charge 
of  the  person  of  the  young  king,  the  control  of  his 
education,  and  the  command  of  the  household  troops, 
were  assigned  by  it  to  the  Due  du  Maine.  But  this 
arrangement  was  unhesitatingly  superseded,  and  with- 
out a  single  dissentient  voice,  both  the  title  and  the 
uncontrolled  powers  of  regent  were  conferred  on  the 
Due  d'Orleans.  The  young  Due  de  Bourbon — Conde 
— hideous  in  person,  ignorant  and  depraved,  and  pos- 
sessing his  full  share  of  the  violence  of  temper  and 
brutality  of  disposition  inherent  in  his  race — put  in  a 
claim  to  the  control  of  the  king's  education.  Not 
being  of  the  required  age,  twenty-four,  his  claim  was 
disallowed,  and,  for  the  time  being,  the  Due  du  Maine 
was  permitted  to  hold  the  sinecure  post  of  superin- 
tendent of  the  child-king's  studies. 

The  authority  exercised  by  the  parliamentary  body 
had  gradually  been  cut  down  to  zero,  during  the  last 
forty  years,  by  Louis  XIV.  Nominally  to  confirm  his 
edicts,  seemed  to  be  the  chief  object  of  the  existence 
of  a  Parliament.  Decrees  emanating  from  it  he 
annulled  without  scruple,  when  not  fully  coinciding 
with  his  own  private  views.  The  privilege  of  remon- 
strating had  long  been  withheld  from  it.  However 
oppressive  the  taxes,  or  arbitrary  and  impolitic  the 
measures  approved  by  the  king,  and  imposed  on  the 
people,  submission  was  the  rule,  and  the  Parliament, 
to  preserve  its  own  existence,  consented  to  be  dumb. 
Doubtless,  then,  some  degree  of  secret  satisfaction  was 
felt  in  annulling  the  testament  of  so  imperious  and 


COURTING  POPULARITY.  I J 

absolute  a  ruler.  Some  secret  hope,  too,  probably, 
that  power  and  prestige  might  be  regained  by  the 
readiness  and  unanimity  with  which  the  aims  of  the 
Due  d'Orleans  had  been  met  and  accomplished. 

Nor  was  this  wholly  a  vain  hope.  For  the  regent, 
courting  popularity,  and  elated  by  easy  victory — the 
Due  du  Maine,  whether  from  timidity  or  indifference, 
having  opposed  no  obstacle  to  it — at  once  restored  to 
the  Parliament  its  long-withdrawn  privilege  of  remon- 
strating against  unsatisfactory  edicts.  It  did  not 
necessarily  follow  that  the  remonstrances  would  be 
heeded.  The  duke,  indeed,  declared,  amidst  general 
applause,  that  he  would  not  consent  to  have  his  hands 
tied  when  it  was  a  question  of  doing  good,  but  would 
willingly  be  fettered  should  he  seem  inclined  to  do 
evil.  He,  however,  proceeded  with  undue  eagerness 
to  overthrow  the  Syst^me  Louis  XIV ,  and  to  make 
many  ill-considered  changes  in  the  administration  of 
government.  Even  zealous  supporters  of  his  claims, 
appointed  to  new  posts  he  had  created,  the  Mar6chal 
de  Villars,  for  instance,  urged  on  him  the  advisability 
of  carrying  out  his  projected  reforms  with  less  haste 
and  more  judgment. 

He  had  promised — it  was,  however,  notorious  that 
he  never  kept  his  promises — that  taxation  should  be 
diminished,  and  economy  be  the  order  of  the  day  in 
the  expenditure  of  the  court.  To  practise  or  enforce 
economy  was  not  in  his  nature  or  consistent  with  his 
habits.  Yet  the  regent,  notwithstanding  his  vicious 
course  of  life,  had  in  his  character  the  elements  of 
several  good  qualities — qualities  that  might  have  de- 
veloped into  virtues  had  not  the  infamous  hands  in 
which  it  was  his  misfortune  to  be  placed  in  his  youth, 
done  their  utmost  to  eradicate  all  that  gave  promise 


1 6  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

of  good  in  him.  There  was  frankness  and  bonhomie  in 
his  manner,  and  leniency  in  his  disposition.  It  was 
readily  believed,  too,  that  a  sense  of  justice,  no  less 
than  feelings  of  humanity,  prompted  his  first  act  of 
authority — an  order  to  throw  open  the  doors  of  the 
Bastille  and  set  the  oppressed  free. 

This  was  a  step  that  secured  for  the  regent  immense 
popularity.  It  was  a  real  blessing,  too,  to  many  sor- 
rowing families,  and  to  many  guiltless  victims  of 
despotic  caprice,  who  were  languishing  away  life,  sick 
at  heart,  and  longing  for  deliverance  that  came  not. 
To  one  of  these  unfortunates,  the  unexpected  message 
"  you  are  free"  proved  a  message  of  death.  Hope  in 
that  drooping  heart  had  given  place  to  despair,  and, 
under  the  powerful  reaction  of  the  startling  announce- 
ment, the  thread  of  life  suddenly  snapped.  Another, 
who  had  spent  thirty-five  years  in  the  Bastille,  heard 
of  freedom  with  fear  and  trembling.  The  outside 
world  had  lost  its  interest  for  him.  Friends,  relatives, 
home — all  were  no  more.  He  therefore  humbly  prayed 
to  be  allowed,  as  a  favor,  to  spend  his  remaining  days 
within  the  walls  of  that  prison  in  which  he  had  been 
condemned  to  waste  away  the  vigorous  years  of  man- 
hood, but  which  now,  in  friendless  old  age,  he  clung 
to  as  a  refuge. 

Golden  opinions  rewarded  the  regent.  The  people 
looked  hopefully  forward  to  the  speedy  sweeping 
away  of  the  many  abuses  that  had  sprung  up  during 
the  long  despotism  of  Louis  XIV.  They  imagined 
that  past  excesses,  the  scandal  of  his  former  life,  and 
the  parade  he  had  hitherto  made  of  vice,  were  to  be 
redeemed  by  the  future  employment  for  the  good  of 
the  nation  and  the  welfare  of  the  king,  of  the  excellent 
abilities  the  Due  d'Orleans  really  possessed. 


THE    YOUNG  KING.  1 7 

On  the  1 2th  of  September  the  youthful  Louis  XV. 
was  brought  from  Vincennes  to  Paris,  for  the  formality 
of  giving  his  viva  voce  assent,  before  the  assembled 
house  of  peers,  to  the  acts  done  in  his  name  by  the  regent. 
Vast  was  the  throng  that  greeted  the  first  public  ap- 
pearance of  this  one  remaining  blossom  of  royalty. 
He  was  attended  by  those  serious  and  elderly  grandees 
of  the  vieille  ctmr^  appointed  to  their  several  posts  by 
the  late  king,  and  who  could  not  be  superseded  by  the 
regent  without  giving  color  to  suspicions,  still  current 
in  some  quarters,  of  his  designs  on  the  young  king's 
life.  On  the  arrival  of  Louis  XV.  and  his  suite,  the 
Due  de  Fresme,  Grand  Chamberlain,  took  the  child  in 
his  arms,  carried  him  to  the  throne,  and  placed  him 
there  on  a  cushion.  At  the  foot  of  the  throne  sat  the 
Duchesse  de  Ventadour,  la  grande  gouvernatiUy  stiff  and 
formal,  and  arrayed  in  heavy  mourning  robes  of  black 
and  violet  velvet,  and  a  long  veil  of  black  crape.  The 
duchess  represented  on  this  occasion  a  queen-mother. 
Before  taking  her  seat,  she  announced  to  the  assembled 
Parliament  that  the  chancellor  would  inform  them  of 
the  will  and  intention  of  his  majesty.  His  little  ma- 
jesty's mourning  garb  was  of  violet  cloth ;  a  full  plaited 
tunic,  and  jacket  with  hanging  sleeves,  lined  with 
black  satin  and  edged  with  gold  fringe.  His  auburn 
hair  floated  over  his  shoulders  in  natural  curls.  A  little 
violet  crape  cap,  with  a  lining  of  gold  tissue,  covered 
his  head,  and  on  his  neck,  suspended  by  a  blue  riband, 
were  the  crosses  of  the  Orders  of  St.  Louis  and  of  the 
St.  Esprit — decorations  he  seemed  greatly  to  admire, 
and  to  be  very  proud  of.  His  leading-strings  were 
crossed  back  over  his  chest  and  shoulders.  They  were 
of  gold  cloth,  with  small  pearls  worked  in,  and  were 
worn  to  indicate  the  childhood  of  the  Ruler  of  France, 


1 8  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

rather  than  for  use.  For  he  was  five  years  of  age,  and 
although  very  delicate,  and  reared  hitherto  only  by 
extraordinary  care  and  attention,  he  was  a  swift 
runner.  He  was  perfectly  well  formed,  too,  though, 
as  a  print  of  the  time  shows,  he  had  been  bandaged 
and  strapped  up,  as  poor  infants  in  those  days  were 
wont  to  be;  to  which  custom  the  prevalence  of  deformity 
and  stunted  growth  were  in  a  great  degree  due. 
Louis  XV.  was  a  beautiful  child.  His  deep  blue  eyes 
had  a  rather  melancholy,  appealing  expression,  and 
an  earnestness  in  their  gaze,  which  inspired  an  inter- 
est in  him. 

On  the  occasion  of  this  first  lit- de-justice  held  in  his 
name,  the  child-king,  reclining  on  his  cushion,  ob- 
served with  amazement  all  that  took  place.  With  a 
profoundly  attentive,  but  somewhat  puzzled,  air,  he 
listened  to  the  speeches  and  harangues  that  were  ad- 
dressed to  him,  and  the  oaths  of  fidelity  that  followed. 
He  was  beginning  to  show  signs  of  weariness  and 
impatience,  when  the  dignitaries  of  the  Church  then 
present  greatly  attracted  his  notice:  perhaps  because 
of  their  magnificent  vestments,  point-lace,  gold  crosses, 
and  robes  of  scarlet  and  violet;  but  the  especial  fas- 
cination was  the  red  hat  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris, 
Cardinal  de  Noailles. 

The  Marechal  Due  de  Villeroi — he  who  so  signally 
failed  when  commanding  the  armies  of  France  to 
evince  any  of  the  qualities  of  a  great  general — was 
one  of  the  most  finished  and  stately  of  the  circle  of 
courtiers  who  had  surrounded  Louis  XIV.  He  now 
held  the  office  of  governor  to  the  young  king,  and  in 
that  capacity  stood  by  his  side  near  the  throne. 
Shocked  at  the  persistency  with  which  his  royal  charge 
continued,   with   a   long,   fixed    stare^    to   regard    the 


THE  KINGS  FIRST  PUBLIC  SPEECH.  19 

cardinal  archbishop,  he  endeavored  to  divert  his  atten- 
tion from  him.  But  all  in  vain.  He  heeded  not  his 
governor's  whispered  reproofs,  his  admonitory  shak- 
ings of  the  head,  the  great  eyes  he  made,  and  other 
deprecatory  signs  of  amazement.  Meeting  at  last  the 
mar^chal's  angry  glances,  the  child  replied  to  them  by 
bursting  into  tears,  stretching  out  his  arms  to  his 
gouvernante^  and  calling  out  lustily  to  the  mar^chal, 
"  Laissez  mot /aire;  laissez  mot,  done  T — "  leave  me  alone; 
I  will  do  as  I  like."  So  that  the  first  public  utterance 
of  this  baby-king  embodied,  as  was  then  remarked, 
the  fundamental  law  and  the  principal  maxim  of  ab- 
solute hereditary  monarchy. 

This  little  outburst  of  temper  and  feeling  brought 
the  business  of  the  lit-de-justice  speedily  to  a  close. 
The  royal  assent  was  supposed  to  be  given  to  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  stance;  for  no  coaxings  could  prevail 
on  his  majesty  to  utter,  as  entreated,  the  simple  word 
*^Oui**  He  had  expended  his  energy  in  asserting  his 
right  to  stare  at  his  archbishop  as  earnestly  and  as 
long  as  he  pleased.  It  was  now  his  good  pleasure  to 
show  his  firmness  by  silence.  So  the  Assembly  sub- 
mitted to  accept  silence  for  assent,  and  at  once  broke 
up. 

The  health  of  the  hope  of  the  nation  must  not  be 
risked  by  needlessly  fretting  him.  It  was,  indeed,  al- 
most too  jealously  watched  over,  and  the  child  shielded 
with  unslumbering  care  from  the  possible  approach  of 
harm,  by  the  Marechal  de  Villeroi. 

Between  him  and  the  regent  the  strongest  antipathy 
existed;  and  the  latter  was  glad  to  seize  the  opportu- 
nity of  commenting  very  openly  on  the  duke's  injudi- 
cious severity,  as  he  termed  it,  in  publicly  reprimand- 
ing his  youthful  charge  for  a  childlike  and  inoffensive 


20  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

act.  Three  years  had  scarcely  elapsed  since  the  regent 
had  been  hooted  through  the  streets,  mud  and  stones 
thrown  into  his  carriage,  and  an  attempt  made  to  force 
an  entrance  into  the  Palais  Royal.  The  nation  at 
large  execrated  him  as  the  suspected  poisoner  of  the 
young  Duke  and  Duchess  of  Burgundy  and  their  son. 
Now,  he  was  overwhelmed  with  the  applause  of  the 
house  of  peers,  and  returned  to  the  Palais  Royal 
amidst  the  acclamations  of  an  enthusiastic  people,  who 
hailed  him  as  their  liberator,  and  the  expected  restorer 
of  peace  and  prosperity  to  France. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  Regency.— Its  Libertinage.— The  Regent's  Rou6s.— Seeking 
Interviews  with  Satan. — Madame  Lucifer. — Madame,  the  Re- 
gent's Mother.— Audacity  of  Voltaire. — Character  of  the  Re- 
gent.—A  Boaster  of  Vices.— Yet  Generally  Popular.— The 
Regent's  Gallantry. 

The  Regency  has  been  called  "  La  Fronde  des  mamrs 
iigires.*'  The  epithet  is  euphonious.  It,  however,  but 
inadequately  describes  that  state  of  moral  corruption 
which,  from  its  centre — the  depraved  court  of  the  re- 
gent— spread  to  the  social  circles  of  the  higher  nobles, 
infected  the  society  of  the  upper  bourgeoisie^  and  exer- 
cised a  baneful  influence  on  the  French  people  gener- 
ally. Scarcely  was  France  freed  from  the  severe  re- 
straint which  the  despotic  will  of  a  single  man  had  so 
long  imposed  on  her,  than  the  reaction  began.  The 
regent,  roused  to  unusual  activity  by  the  unjust  par- 
tiality displayed  in  the  late  king's  will,  momentarily 
renounced  his  dissolute  pleasures.  But  no  sooner  were 
the  reins  of  government  securely  in  his  hands,  than  he 
gave  the  signal,  as  he  had  before  set  the  example,  and, 
nothing  loth,  it  would  seem,  both  glands  seigneurs  and 
grandes  dames — more  eager  for  license  than  the  nation 
for  liberty — plunged  with  him  into  every  excess.  Hy- 
pocrisy threw  off  its  mask,  and  libertinism  exhibited 
itself  with  open  effrontery. 

The  ladies  of  the  court,  the  elderly  no  less  than  the 
young,  were  weary  of  the  domination  of  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  and  had  looked  to  be  relieved  from  it  with 


22  TEE  OLD  REGIME. 

her  retreat  to  St.  Cyr.  The  continuance  of  her  mystic 
influence,  and  of  the  "  Systeme  Antiquaille"  of  Louis 
XIV. — as  the  new  generation  termed  it — under  the 
Due  du  Maine,  had,  therefore,  been  regarded  as  an  in- 
tolerable infliction;  even  by  those  courtiers  who  were 
not  of  the  partisans  of  the  Due  d'Orleans.  Many  thus 
became  supporters  of  his  claims  who  socially  were 
alienated  from  him;  owing  to  that  singular  perver- 
sion both  of  mind  and  judgment  which  led  him  to 
glory  in  the  reputation  he  had  acquired  for  frightful 
depravity  and  crime.  He  encouraged,  and  even  set 
afloat,  the  most  exaggerated  reports  of  his  deplorable 
excesses,  and  of  the  unblushing  vice  that  prevailed  at 
his  private  reunions  at  the  Palais  Royal.  Thus,  as 
Fenelon  remarked,  when  suspicion  fixed  on  the  duke 
as  the  poisoner  of  the  Dauphin,  "  making  credible  that 
which,  from  its  vileness,  it  was  most  difficult  to  give 
credit  to." 

Something  of  that  spirit  which  animated  the  youth- 
ful frondeurs  when  in  the  moats  of  old  Paris  they 
attacked  their  less  reckless  companions,  probably 
influenced  the  Due  d'Orleans  so  openly  to  resort  to 
vicious  courses.  By  his  avowed  libertinage  (meaning 
then,  disregard  of  religious  observances)  and  want  of 
respect  for  propriety  of  conduct,  he  evinced  his  con- 
tempt for  the  hypocritical  austerity  and  sham  devotion 
which  veiled  the  backslidings  of  the  pious  court  of 
Marly  and  Versailles.  A  servile  throng  of  courtiers 
attended  Louis  XIV.,  adapting  their  manners  to  his 
changing  moods.  Their  faces  were  often  lugubrious, 
and  their  usual  dresses  "sad-colored;"  for,  as  the  fit 
of  penitence  was  often  very  strong,  it  became  neces- 
sary to  modify  the  brilliancy  of  their  garments,  to  sub- 
stitute rich  embroidery  for  gold  and  silver,  but  never 


THE  RECEIPT B  kOUAS  ^3 

to  appear  in  black.  The  Due  d'Orleans  had  also  his 
courtiers;  the  sharers  of  his  pleasures — his  dissipated 
band  of  "  roues''  More  thah  one  explanation  has  been 
given  of  this  flattering  sobriquet.  Generally,  he  is  said 
to  have  so  named  them  from  their  having,  one  and  all, 
earned  the  unenviable  distinction  of  meriting  the  rack 
or  wheel — a  punishment  to  which  offenders  of  a  lower 
social  rank  would  have  been  condemned — for  the 
many  infamous  acts  of  their  dissolute  career.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  has  been  asserted,  on  behalf  of  this  noble 
fraternity,  that  the  appellation  signified  rather  a  band 
of  congenial  spirits,  who  would  not  shrink  from  the 
torture  of  the  rack,  should  such  a  test  of  their  devotion 
to  their  chief  ever  be  required  of  them.  It  is,  however, 
unlikely  that  the  duke  credited  the  companions  he  had 
christened  his  *^rouis''  with  any  such  feeling,  as  he 
professed  to  doubt — or,  rather,  he  denied — the  exist- 
ence of  disinterestedness,  even  in  the  most  honorable 
of  men. 

In  his  youth  he  possessed  courage  and  activity,  and 
was  believed  to  have  exhibited  other  soldier-like  qual- 
ities; but  the  selfishness  and  jealousy  of  Louis  XIV. 
denied  him,  as  in  other  instances  in  his  family,  the 
opportunity  of  distinguishing  himself.  He  took  to 
the  study  of  chemistry,  and  obtained  by  it  the  repu- 
tation of  a  poisoner,  and  a  seeker  after  the  philoso- 
pher's stone.  He  possessed  some  skill  in  painting  and 
music,  and  in  the  mechanical  arts.  "  More  than  a  super- 
ficial knowledge,"  says  Duclos.  He  had  also  turned  his 
attention  to  astronomy,  with  which,  as  at  that  period 
was  not  uncommon,  astrology  was  combined.  This, 
it  was  believed,  was  to  hold  communion  with  the 
powers  of  darkness;  to  seek  interviews  with  Satan,  as 
some  of  the  wild  young  rakes  of  that  day  actually  did 


24  "^HE   OLD  REGIME. 

— de  Richelieu  being  one  of  them.  But  their  request 
to  his  Satanic  majesty  to  appear  was  unheeded,  and 
some  unexpected  noises  occurring  near  the  spot  where 
their  incantations  were  performed,  these  bold  spirits 
tottered  away  in  a  dreadful  fright,  one  or  two  swoon- 
ing with  terror. 

To  return  to  the  young  Due  d'Orleans — then  de 
Chartres — his  latest  tutor  was  the  Abbe  Dubois,  a 
dissolute  priest,  but  a  man  of  some  ability,  who,  while 
tutoring  him  in  vice,  gained  considerable  influence 
over  him.  Louis  XIV.  did  not  disdain  to  employ  the 
abb6  to  overcome  his  pupil's  repugnance  to  the  mar- 
riage he  had  arranged  for  him  with  Mdlle.  de  Blois, 
one  of  his  illegitimate  daughters.  This  marriage  was 
looked  upon  with  extreme  disfavor  also  by  Madame, 
the  Princess  Charlotte  de  Baviere,  mother  of  the  duke. 
Like  the  princes  of  the  House  of  Conde,  when  from 
time  to  time  one  of  the  many  spurious  offshoots  of 
royalty  was  thrust  upon  them  by  the  king,  she 
regarded  the  union  as  a  mesalliance  and  a  dishonor. 
It,  however,  took  place.  The  bride  considered  that 
she  had  conferred  a  great  honor  on  the  Orleans  family 
by  condescending  to  marry  the  Due  de  Chartres.  She 
was  so  haughty  that  he  was  accustomed  to  call  her 
Madame  Lucifer.  At  times  he  compared  her  to 
Minerva,  who,  while  acknowledging  no  mother,  gloried 
in  being  the  daughter  of  Jupiter.  Soon  after  the  mar- 
riage, Monsieur,  the  duke's  father — in  whose  steps  the 
son  had  diligently  walked — was  carried  off  by  apo- 
plexy, subsequently  to  an  interview  with  the  august 
Louis,  at  which  some  very  warm  words  had  passed 
between  the  brothers.  De  Chartres  then  became  Due 
d'Orleans.  His  duchess,  who,  at  first,  complained 
greatly  of  her  husband's  dissipation,    soon   fell    into 


MADAME—THE  REGENTS  MOTHER.  2$ 

similar  habits.  While  Madame,  who,  though  a  little 
eccentric,  was  remarkably  shrewd  and  witty,  held 
aloof  from  the  court,  she  yet  kept  a  vigilant  eye  open 
on  all  that  was  passing.  In  her  numerous  letters  to 
her  German  friends  and  relatives,  she  narrated  all  the 
follies  and  scandals  of  the  day,  and  chronicled  them 
for  posterity  in  her  M^moires,  with  the  same  piquancy 
and  unsparing  causticity;  few  of  the  celebrities  of  the 
period  escaping  her  lash. 

Madame,  naturally,  was  much  attached  to  her  son, 
though  she  was  aware  of  his  vices,  and  greatly  la- 
mented them.  She  accounted  for  them  rather  fantas- 
tically. At  his  birth,  she  said,  numberless  good  genii 
assembled  and  endowed  him  with  the  germ  of  every 
virtue.  One  of  the  number,  however,  who  arrived  late, 
being  annoyed  that  nothing  was  left  for  her  to  bestow, 
maliciously  decreed  that  he  should  want  the  power  of 
making  use  of  the  gifts  which  the  early  arrivals  had 
lavished  upon  him.  *'  And  my  son  is  still  under  the 
charm  of  the  malicious  fairy,"  said  the  princess;  "he 
has  within  him  the  germ  of  all  the  virtues,  but  he  can- 
not develop  it."  Her  head  was  full  of  fairy  tales  and 
old  German  legends.  She  was,  however,  far  too  clever 
and  keen-sighted  to  put  faith  in  them,  or  to  be  blind 
to  the  results  of  evil  example  and  corrupt  training,  of 
which  the  regent  was  so  striking  and  lamentable  an 
instance. 

Yet  it  was,  in  some  sort,  true  that  the  regent  had  not 
the  power  of  making  use  of  the  good  qualities  with 
which  many  of  his  contemporaries  believed  him  en- 
dowed. Voltaire  speaks  of  him  as  "celebrated  for 
courage,  wit,  and  pleasures,"  as  a  man  born  to  shine  in 
society  even  more  than  to  conduct  affairs  of  state;  one 
of  the  most  amiable  men  that  ever  existed. 


26  THE  OLD  RJ^GIME. 

Voltaire,  in  1718,  had  received  a  striking  proof  of 
the  regent's  amiability,  according  to  the  notions  of 
those  days  of  lettres- de-cachet.  He  had  just  been  re- 
leased from  the  Bastille,  where,  for  a  cutting  satire  on 
the  regent  and  his  government,  falsely  attributed  to 
him,  he  had  spent  the  last  twelve  months.  The  error 
being  discovered,  Voltaire  was  liberated.  While  wait- 
ing in  the  antechamber  to  be  introduced  to  the  regent, 
who  proposed  to  make  him  pecuniary  compensation 
for  his  detention,  a  violent  storm  came  on:  thunder, 
lightning,  a  perfect  whirlwind.  To  the  dismay  of  a 
number  of  persons,  waiting  also  to  see  the  regent,  Vol- 
taire suddenly  exclaimed,  looking  towards  the  sky, 
"  They  must  have  a  regency  up  there  to  produce  such 
a  bad  state  of  things  as  this."  None  dared  utter  a 
word,  or  venture  to  smile  at  so  astounding  a  piece  of 
audacity.  The  speech  was  immediately  made  known 
to  the  regent.  Voltaire,  being  introduced,  "This  is 
M.  Voltaire  who  is  now  leaving  the  Bastille?"  in- 
quired the  Due.  "  Oui,  Monseigneur,"  replied  the 
chamberlain,  "  unless  it  be  your  good  pleasure  that  he 
should  return  to  it."  But  the  regent,  repeating  Vol- 
taire's words,  laughed  heartily  at  them,  as  at  a  good 
joke.  Voltaire,  we  are  told,  thanked  him  for  the  good 
cheer  he  had  been  provided  with  during  his  sojourn  in 
the  Bastille;  adding,  however,  he  trusted  his  highness 
would  not  again  trouble  himself  to  provide  him  with 
a  lodging.  Sallies  of  that  kind  were  regarded  with 
less  leniency  in  the  Louis  XIV.  period. 

Duclos  mentions  the  duke's  "  brilliant  valor,  and  his 
modesty  when  referring  to  his  own  part  in  any  ac- 
tion." He  thinks  he  would  have  been  a  great  general 
had  not  his  advancement  been  thwarted  by  the  nar- 
row-minded policy  of  the  king;   "  he  was  always   in 


CHARACTER  OF  THE  REGENT.  27 

subjection  to  the  court,"  he  says,  "and  under  the 
tutelage  of  the  army."  In  Saint-Simon's  portrait  of 
the  regent  (Saint-Simon,  often  so  eloquently  vitupera- 
tive, colors  highly  at  all  times,  whether  it  be  to  praise 
or  to  blame,  yet  he  knew  the  regent  intimately),  he  is 
represented  as  gifted  in  a  higher  degree  than  are  most 
men,  with  personal  fascination  and  intellectual  quali- 
ties: "Affable,  kindly,  frank,  easy  of  access;  a  pleasant 
voice,  the  gift  of  speech  of  all  kinds.  Natural  eloquence; 
precision  alike  in  the  most  abstract  sciences,  which  he 
made  plain,  in  questions  of  government,  of  politics, 
finance,  law,  court  etiquette,  and  common  usage,  and 
in  all  kinds  of  art  and  mechanism."  Notwithstanding 
these  great  talents  and  varied  acquirements,  he  yet 
describes  him  as  being  oppressed  by  ennui;  utterly 
without  resource,  and  finding  life  barely  endurable, 
except  in  the  midst  of  those  insane  pleasures  which  he 
actually  abhorred,  but  from  long  indulgence  in  could 
not,  or  would  not,  give  up.  Depravity  had  become  a 
mania,  whose  pernicious  influence  he  no  longer  had 
the  power  to  shake  off.  Yet,  beneath  the  dark  colors 
in  which  the  Due  d'Orleans  so  strangely  delighted 
that  his  character  should  appear,  even  Louis  XIV. 
readily  discerned  "  a  boaster  of  vices  he  is  not  guilty 
of,"  and  his  contemporaries  generally  have  endorsed 
this  judgment. 

Such  was  the  regent,  Philippe  Due  d'Orleans,  to 
whom  the  destinies  of  France  and  her  child-king  were 
to  be  confided  for  the  next  eight  years.  During  those 
years,  in  spite  of  his  depravity,  and  the  ruinous  finan- 
cial schemes  he  sanctioned,  the  people  became  much 
attached  to  the  man  whom  they  had  once  followed  to 
his  home  with  hootings  and  maledictions.  "The 
Parisians,"  says  Anquetil,  "  adored  him.     He  was  so 


28  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

affable,  so  courteous,  so  desirous  of  obliging."  The 
air  of  kindness  and  interest  with  which  he  listened  to 
appeals  that  were  made  to  him  was  in  itself  a  charm. 
He  had  the  art  of  refusing  a  request  without  giving 
pain,  for  he  appeared  pained  himself  at  his  inability 
to  comply  with  it.  There  was  something  in  the  earn- 
estness yet  gentleness  of  his  looks  that  was  especially 
flattering.  The  people  assembled  in  crowds  to  get 
but  a  glimpse  of  him  when  he  left  or  returned  to  his 
palace,  and  flocked  to  the  theatres  in  the  hope  of  see- 
ing him  there. 

He  was  no  less  successful  in  gaining  the  good  opin- 
ion of  the  foreign  ministers.  For,  while  the  charm 
of  his  manners  had  its  usual  prepossessing  effect,  the 
justice  of  his  views,  his  keen  political  insight,  his 
ready  comprehension  and  clear  explanation  of  the 
most  intricate  questions  of  state,  the  cautious  reserve 
of  his  inquiries,  and  the  ease  and  finesse  of  his  re- 
plies, won  the  general  admiration  of  the  diplomatists. 
The  regent,  in  short,  had  suddenly  achieved  popula- 
rity. The  youth  of  the  nation  was  with  him,  and  fair 
dames  admired  him;  for  he  was  courteous  and  gallant 
to  the  young,  deferential  in  his  attentions  to  the  elder- 
ly— even  the  youthful  monarch  (a  melancholy  child, 
and  ennuye  from  his  infancy)  brightened  into  smiles 
and  became  animated  when  the  regent  visited  him. 

If  the  Due  d'Orleans  could  but  have  sustained  this 
character,  it  would  have  been  well  both  for  himself 
and  for  France.  But  strength  of  mind  and  force  of 
will  being  wanting,  he  too  often  fell  back  to  his  ac- 
customed vicious  courses,  and  the  qualities  that  might 
have  made  him  the  regenerator  of  France  served  but  to 
give  attraction  to  his  evil  example,  and  to  facilitate  the 
moral  perversion  of  all  who  came  within  its  influence. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

Un  Salon  irts  Respectable. — The  H6tel  Lambert. — La  Marquise 
de  Lambert. — The  Palais  Mazarin. — Weekly  Literary  Din- 
ners.— French  Cooks  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. — The  Wealthy 
Financiers. — A  Parly  of  Old  Friends. — La  Motte-Houdart. — 
Homer  and  Madame  Dacier.  The  Salon  Lambert. — The 
Bureau  d'Esprit. — The  Goddess  of  Sceaux. — The  Marquis  de 
Sl  Aulaire. — The  Due  du  Maine. — A  Desperate  Little  Wo- 
man.— Portrait  of  the  Duchess. — Genealogical  Researches. — 
Drowsy  Reading. 

The  traditions  of  the  once  famous  saion  of  the  Mar- 
quise de  Rambouillet  had  well-nigh  died  out  towards 
the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Gradually,  as 
the  literary  and  social  celebrities  of  that  period  dis- 
appeared from  the  stage  of  life,  the  salons  which 
claimed  to  represent  those  traditions  became  extinct, 
and  no  new  ones  were  opened  to  replace  them.  Those 
reunions  of  the  noble,  the  witty,  and  the  learned  had 
never  been  looked  on  with  favor  by  the  king,  even  in 
his  youth.  But  when  wintry  old  age  crept  upon  him, 
with  its  usual  selfish  distaste  for  other  enjoyments 
than  its  own,  he  regarded  with  a  sterner  and  still 
more  jealous  eye  whatever  appeared  to  be  a  counter- 
attraction  to  the  formal  etiquette  and  gloomy  piety  of 
his  court.  He  would  have  had  the  French  people 
grow  old  and  devout  with  him;  forgetting  that  while 
individuals  are  passing  away,  a  nation  is  renewing  its 
youth,  and  inventing  new  pleasures  for  itself. 

There,  however,  still  existed  in  Paris  a  salon  of  the 
old  type;  yet  somewhat  modified — having  yielded,  as 


30  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

time  went  on,  to  the  influence  of  changing  surround- 
ings. It  was  the  solon  of  Madame  de  Lambert,  a 
great  lady  of  the  old  court,  refined  in  sentiment,  pol- 
ished in  manners.  It  was  distinguished  as  "  un  salon 
(rh  respectable."  In  other  words,  it  was  not  of  the  new 
school  of  light  ways,  inaugurated  with  the  regency, 
which  showed  little  respect  for  the  co7ivenances  hitherto 
observed  in  polite  society.  Madame  de  Lambert  was 
the  authoress  of  several  works.  They  were  written 
chiefly  for  the  instruction  of  her  son  and  daughter, 
but  were  held  in  general  esteem  in  their  day.  She 
had  a  considerable  acquaintance  with  Latin  and  Greek, 
yet  was  quite  free  from  pedantry  and  all  affectation 
of  learning. 

So  long  back  as  1666,  Therese  de  Marguenat  de 
Courcelles  had  married,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  the 
wealthy  Henri  de  Lambert,  Marquis  de  Saint-Bres. 
The  Hotel  Lambert,  in  the  He  St.  Louis,  then  became 
her  residence:  that  splendid  hotel,  renowned  for  its 
elaborately  sculptured  decorations,  its  finely  carved 
chimney-pieces,  painted  panels,  ceilings,  and  stair- 
cases. They  were  the  work  of  such  artists  as  Le 
Sueur,  Le  Brun,  Van  Ostal,  Romanilla,  Du  Bassan, 
and  other  painters  and  sculptors  of  eminence.  The 
beautiful  saloon  known  as  the  "Salon  des  Muses," 
and  the  smaller  one  the  "  Cabinet  d'Amours,"  were 
profusely  adorned  with  works  of  art  and  exquisite 
paintings.*  In  the  costliness  of  its  furniture,  it  vied 
with  the  famous  Hotel  Lesdiguieres;  but  in  itself,  as 
an  artistic  masterpiece,  far  surpassed  it. 

*  Subsequently  these  were  placed  in  the  Mus6e  du  Louvre. 
The  Hotel  Lambert  was  pillaged  in  the  revolutionary  times;  but 
later  on  was  restored  with  great  taste  and  a  considerable  outlay  by 
Prince  Adam  Czartoriski, 


THE  PALAIS  MAZARI^r.  3 1 

In  this  princely  abode,  the  most  distinguished  of 
the  beau  mondCy  the  most  celebrated  literary  men,  the 
poets,  and  men  of  science,  both  native  and  foreign, 
\\^re  constantly  entertained  until  the  death  of  the 
Marquis  de  Lambert,  in  1686 — that  year  so  eventful 
for  France;  the  turning-point  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
great  Louis.  It  was  the  year  of  the  ^^  Dragonnades;'' 
the  beginning  of  the  reign  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

After  a  short  interval  of  retirement  the  marquise  re- 
opened her  saionsy  and  continued  to  hold  her  recep- 
tions in  the  same  splendid  hotel  until  17 10.  She  had 
made  her  dibut  in  society  too  late  in  the  century  to 
have  known  the  celebrated  Madame  de  Rambouillet. 
But  she  was  familiar  with  the  far-famed  salon  bleu — 
having  visited  the  fair  Julie  d'Angennes,  when,  as 
Duchesse  de  Montausier,  she  occasionally  received  her 
circle  of  friends  in  the  salon  that  had  been  the  scene  of 
her  own  youthful  triumphs,  and  her  mother's  social 
celebrity.  Mdlle.  de  Scud6ry  and  Madame  de  S6vign6 
had  been  Madame  de  Lambert's  intimate  friends. 
She  had  known  also  Corneille,  Racine,  and  Moli^re, 
and  had  seen  Madame  Champmesl6  and  the  famous 
Michel  Baron  represent  the  principal  characters  in 
their  dramas.  She  had  heard  Bossuet,  Bourdaloue, 
and  Fl^chier  denounce  the  vices  of  the  age,  and  the 
Italian  manners;  and  speak  with  a  warning  voice  even 
to  the  Grand  Monarque  himself.  In  those  forty-four 
years,  so  full  of  incident,  absolutism  had  passed  from 
the  height  of  power  to  the  first  stage  of  its  decadence. 

Owing  to  family  arrangements,  the  marquise,  in 
1 7 10,  left  the  He  St.  Louis,  and  took  on  a  lease,  for  the 
term  of  her  life,  part  of  the  Hotel  Nevers — that  por- 
tion of  the  vast  edifice,  the  Palais  Mazarin,  now 
"  Bibliotheque  Nationale/'  which  the  Marquis  de  Man- 


32 


THE   OLD  rAGIME. 


cini  had  inherited  from  the  cardinal.  It  had  been 
built  and  furnished,  as  everybody  knows,  with  an  utter 
disregard  to  cost;  for  the  coffers  of  the  State  furnished 
the  funds,  under  the  name  of  "  private  expenses.*' 
Though  still  superb,  sixty  years'  use  had  dimmed 
much  of  the  original  splendor  of  the  gold  brocades, 
embroidered  satin  hangings,  etc.,  as  well  as  of  the 
decoration  of  the  apartments.  But  the  cardinal's 
successors  had  not  found  it  convenient  to  renew  either 
one  or  the  other.  Madame  de  Lambert  foresaw,  ap- 
parently, that  her  lease  of  life  had  yet  more  than 
twenty-one  years  to  run.  For  she  thought  it  worth 
while  to  spend  several  thousand  pounds  on  the  work 
of  renovation,  and  to  build,  from  the  Rue  Colbert,  a 
separate  entrance  to  her  own  part  of  the  palace. 

In  the  other  part  lived  the  Due  de  Nevers,  grand- 
nephew  of  the  cardinal.  He,  wavering  between  the 
old  and  new  schools,  also  held  frequent  receptions,  or, 
to  be  quite  correct,  reunions,  that  being  the  term  spe- 
cially applied  to  the  social  gatherings  of  the  lordly 
sex,  while  a  salo7t  denoted  an  assembly  of  the  beau 
monde,  both  gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  that  a  lady 
presided. 

The  extensive  alterations  and  embellishments — the 
latter  including  some  graceful  panel  paintings  by 
Watteau,  whose  talent  was  then  becoming  known — 
being  completed,  and  the  marquise  installed  in  her 
new  hotel,  she  issued  invitations  to  a  select  number  of 
men  of  letters  to  dine  with  her  every  Thursday.  And 
a  splendid  dinner  she  gave  them.  For  her  mattre 
(Thdtel  and  chef -de- cuisine  were  of  the  elite  of  their  pro- 
fession. This  weekly  literary  dinner  was  then  an  inno- 
vation ;  but  it  became  a  generally  adopted  custom, 
dating  from  about  the  time  of  the  death  of  Louis  XIV, 


luua:,    cy    jJJi£  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY.       33 

Heavy  dinners,  such  as  that  great  monarch's  astound- 
ing appetite  enabled  him  to  consume  in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  went  out  of  fashion;  for  with  ordinary  mor- 
tals, but  to  look  on  those  innumerable,  piled-up  and 
steaming-hot  dishes  sufficed  to  take  appetite  away. 
The  dinner  hour  became  somewhat  later,  and  the 
quantity  and  solidity  of  the  food  less  regarded  than 
perfection  of  cookery.  In  the  regent's  gay  circle,  \\o\n- 
c\er, />^ttis-sou^ers  were  far  more  in  favor  than  grand 
dinners. 

It  may  be  mentioned,  by  the  way,  that  the  distin- 
guished professors  of  the  gastronomic  art,  from  the 
regency  to  within  a  few  years  of  the  revolution,  were 
remarkable  for  their  fertility  of  imagination,  in  the 
invention  of  new  and  delicate  dishes.  Great  skill  was 
displayed  in  combining  the  ingredients  to  ensure 
pleasure  to  the  palate;  also,  in  giving  to  their  savory 
creations  artistic  forms  agreeable  to  the  cultured  eye. 
Their  supremacy  in  this  respect  is  attested  by  several 
of  the  gastronomic  feats  of  that  period,  which  have 
remained  unapproached,  and  confessedly  are  still  un- 
approachable, even  by  the  celebrated  artistes  of  our 
own  day.  The  post  of  chef- de-cuisine  was  regarded 
probably  at  the  period  in  question  as  one  of  greater 
distinction  (be  it  said  without  offence)  than  at  the 
present  time.  For  it  was  rare  indeed  that  the  culin- 
ary staff  was  headed  by  a  chef  (even  of  small  preten- 
sions, if  any  such  there  were),  except  in  the  royal 
households  and  the  hotels  of  the  great  nobles;  where 
the  professors  of  gastronomy  were  necessarily  of  the 
cordon  bleu  order. 

A  very  broad  line  had  hitherto  separated  the  differ- 
ent classes  of  the  community.  Until  the  facile  man- 
ners of  the  regent  emboldened  audacious  spirits  (such 


34 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


as  Voltaire,*  for  instance)  to  set  at  naught  the  bound- 
aries that  hemmed  in  the  wealthy  and  talented  who 
were  not  of  the  court,  even  the  financiers  (men  such  as 
Samuel  Bernard),  the  wealthiest,  and  in  some  sense, 
therefore,  the  most  influential  class  in  the  State,  had 
scarcely  given  an  instance  of  the  presumption  of  set- 
ting up  a  chef.  "  They  enjoyed  their  wealth  at  that 
time  by  stealth,"  as  somebody  has  said.  Banquets 
that  outrivalled  those  of  princes  were  modestly  en- 
trusted to  the  skill  of  women  cooks.  Among  these, 
however,  were  a  few  well-trained  adepts  perfectly 
qualified  to  compete  for  the  palm  of  excellence  with 
the  most  skilful  of  the  culinary  brotherhood. 

But  to  return  to  the  Palais  Cardinal,  To  the  good 
cheer  provided  for  the  guests  of  Madame  de  Lambert 
were  added  ""  the  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul  " 
provided  for  the  hostess  by  the  guests  themselves.  It 
was  by  no  means  a  youthful  party.  There  were  the 
Marquis  de  Saint-Aulaire,  then  seventy-five,  but  des- 
tined to  complete  his  century  (according  to  some  ac- 
counts, he  was  one  hundred  and  two  when  he  died); 
Fontenelle,  who  attained  to  the  same  patriarchal  age. 
Madame  de  Lambert,  herself,  was  then  seventy  ;  and 
the  celebrated  Madame  Dacier  and  her  husband,  with 
the  Academician,  Louis  de  Sacy — constant  guests  at 

*  In  the  early  days  of  his  rising  reputation,  Voltaire,  who  had 
been  invited  to  dine  with  the  Prince  de  Cond6,  exclaimed,  in  reply 
to  the  remark  of  a  guest  respecting  the  mixed  sort  of  company  he 
had  met  at  the  table  of  a  nobleman  on  the  previous  day,  "  We  are, 
all  here,  either  princes  or  poets!" — in  other  words,  all  of  equal 
rank.  It  was  audacious.  But  the  remark  that  drew  it  forth  may 
have  been  levelled  at  the  young  bourgeois  poet,  who,  conscious  of 
the  royalty  of  his  genius,  probably  appeared  a  little  too  much  at 
his  ease  to  please  his  illustrious  host. 


LA   MOTTE-HOUDART. 


35 


her  table — were  verging  also  on  their  threescore  and 
ten.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  weekly  meeting  of  a  circle  of 
old  friends,  who,  in  a  green  old  age,  still  kept  alive 
the  cherished  memories  of  the  brilliant  society  of  their 
youth. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  dinners  that  the  reconciliation 
took  place  between  Madame  Dacier  and  the  poet-critic, 
La  Motte-Houdart.  The  estrangement  was  of  old 
date,  and  the  incident  that  gave  rise  to  it  is  probably 
well  known.  Unacquainted  with  Greek,  La  Motte 
had  ventured  to  put  the  *'  Iliad  "  into  verse  from  a 
French  prose  translation ;  and,  furt.ier,  in  the  famous 
dispute  on  the  respective  merits  of  the  ancient  and 
modern  authors  had  declared  in  favor  of  the  latter. 
Worse  still,  his  disparaging  remarks  and  notes  on  Ho- 
mer had  roused  the  ire  of  the  usually  gentle  Madame 
Dacier,  who  venerated  Homer  almost  as  a  god.  The 
presumption  of  La  Motte  amazed  her,  and  she  charac- 
terized his  criticisms  as  the  result  of  "  ignorance  and 
vanity,  and  a  want  of  common-sense."  This  condem- 
nation from  so  high  an  authority  La  Motte  bore  with 
more  meekness  than  he  probably  would  have  done  had 
it  come  from  one  of  his  own  sex.  To  soothe  the  out- 
raged feelings  of  the  learned  lady,  he  even  addressed 
to  her  a  complimentary  ode  on  her  own  great  attain- 
ments in  classic  lore.  But  her  indignation  was  not 
so  easily  appeased;  and  the  breach  between  them  was 
rather  widened  than  otherwise. 

Madame  de  Lambert  was  a  great  admirer  of  the 
character  and  talents  of  Madame  Dacier,  whom  she 
regarded  as  an  honor  to  her  sex — "  uniting,"  as  she 
said,  "  vast  erudition  and  the  highest  domestic  virtues 
with  liveliness  and  wit  that  gave  a  charm  to  the  social 
circle."     She  was  no  less  just  to  the  merits  of  La  Motte, 


36  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

and  anxiously  sought  an  occasion  to  reunite  the  friends 
whose  mutual  coldness  when  they  met  cast  a  chill  on 
the  gayety  of  the  rest  of  the  party.  M.  de  Valincourt, 
also  an  Academician  and  habitue  of  her  hotel,  chanced, 
however,  one  day  at  dinner  to  make  some  very  happy 
quotation  from  Madame  Dacier's  version  of  the  "  Iliad." 
La  Motte  was  present.  Being  seated  near  Madame  de 
Lambert,  he  requested  permission  to  propose  to  her 
guests  to  drink  to  the  memory  of  the  great  Greek  poet, 
and  to  the  health  of  his  accomplished  and  learned 
translator.  His  proposal,  of  course,  met  with  general 
approval.  The  gentlemen  rose,  and  in  foaming  bum- 
pers of  the  famous  vtn  d'Ai  pledged  Homer  and  Ma- 
dame Dacier  with  great  enthusiasm.  La  fe^nnie  savante 
was  subdued.  And  when  Madame  de  Lambert,  taking 
La  Motte  by  the  hand,  led  him  to  her  friend  that  he 
might  make  full  confession  of  his  errors  as  regarded  his 
remarks  on  the  "  Iliad  "  of  Homer,  she  graciously  con- 
sented to  pardon  him.  It  is  not,  however,  recorded 
that  Madame  Dacier  either  apologized  for  the  offensive 
epithets  she  had  applied  to  the  critic,  or  that  she  with- 
drew them.  Yet  the  reconciliation  was  probably  sin- 
cere. 

Madame  Dacier  died  about  three  years  later — 1720. 
La  Motte  wrote  her  elegy,  in  terms  expressive  of  high 
admiration  for  the  character  and  remarkable  talents  of 
that  celebrated  woman. 

Besides  these  weekly  dinners,  the  marquise,  every 
Tuesday,  received  in  the  evening  a  general  circle,  as 
she  uninterruptedly  had  done  for  so  many  years  past. 
Her  salon  was  one  of  the  very  few — probably  the  only 
one — where  no  gambling  was  allowed.  But  conver- 
sation was  to  be  had,  "  from  grave  to  gay" — lively,  but 
rarely  severe.     No  set  theme.     No  dreary  discussion, 


THE  SALON  LAMBERT.  ^J 

as  in  the  old  Rambouillet  days,  on  the  retention  or 
abolition  of  this  or  that  word,  and  precise  determina- 
tion of  its  meaning  for  the  benefit  of  future  genera- 
tions. The  forty  arm-chairs  had  now  the  monopoly 
of  those  subjects  which  once  interested  so  greatly  the 
pretty  women  of  the  salon  bUu.  The  sentimental  love 
topics  of  the  pricicuse  school  had  also  had  their  day. 
But,  unfortunately,  the  courtesy  of  listening  to  what 
others  had  to  say  was  going  out  of  fashion.  The 
charming  talent  for  conversation,  when  the  piquant 
remark  of  one  speaker  inspired  the  witty  rejoinder  or 
sparkling  bon  mot  of  another,  and  on  which  a  preced- 
ing generation  had  so  greatly  piqued  itself,  necessarily 
was  ebbing  away  too.  Everybody  wished  to  be  heard, 
but  nobody  cared  to  listen.  It  was  then,  in  fact,  that 
French  women  began  to  evince  symptoms  of  a  passion 
or  mania  for  declaiming  rather  than  conversing.  But 
in  the  salon  Lambert,  manners  still  received  their  tone 
from  the  hostess;  while  enough  of  general  politeness 
yet  remained  to  prevent  a  whole  assembly  from  talk- 
ing at  once,  or  one  of  the  number  from  out-talking  all 
the  rest.  It  was  a  mania  that  gradually  developed 
itself  through  the  succeeding  years  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  until  it  culminated  at  the  Revolution,  and  in 
the  person  of  Madame  de  Stael  and  her  political  har- 
angues. 

A  modern  writer  has  said  that  the  pomposity  and 
pretensions  of  the  salon  Lambert  gave  rise  to  the  epi- 
thet ^^ bureau  <r esprit"  ("  office  of  wit").  But  this  is  an 
error.  The  first  salon  so  designated  was  that  of  the 
Duchesse  d'Aiguillon,  the  niece  of  Cardinal  de  Riche- 
lieu. She  attempted  to  establish  a  salon  at  the  Petit 
Luxembourg  in  rivalry  of  that  of  the  Hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet.    But  although  the  great  cardinal  very  rarely 


58  THE   OLD  RAGIME. 

was  present,  the  guests  felt  that  his  spirit  hovered 
closely  around  them  in  the  person  of  his  spies.  For- 
mality and  restraint  were  the  result.  Social  enjoyment 
was  banished.  The  cardinal's  troop  of  dramatists  and 
needy  literary  hangers-on,  of  course,  sedulously  fre- 
quented the  salon  of  the  duchess,  and  wrote  fulsome 
verses  in  honor  of  their  patron.  The  ^''bureau  d'esprit" 
however,  soon  closed  its  doors,  and  the  epithet  em- 
ployed to  distinguish  its  dull  reunions  from  the  lively 
assemblages  of  the  salon  bleu  was  revived  in  the  term 
^Hes  galeries  cT esprit''  ("arcades  of  wit"),  for  the  pre- 
tentious salon  of  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  at  Sceaux. 

At  this  time  (first  years  of  the  regency),  the  duchess 
was  more  particularly  devoted  to  political  affairs  than 
to  literature;  but  when  she  received  at  her  little  court 
of  Sceaux,  brilliancy  in  her  guests  was  indispensable. 
They  must  be  professed  wits,  and  prove  themselves 
worthy  of  their  reputation  by  ingenious  and  versified 
compliments  which,  as  soi-disant  adorers,  they  were 
expected,  from  time  to  time,  to  address  to  the  "  god- 
dess of  Sceaux."  And  sufficiently  wearisome  some  of 
the  most  distinguished  among  them  found  this  tax  on 
wit.  The  difference  between  the  two  salons  is  apparent 
in  the  lines  of  one  of  the  worshippers,  the  Marquis  de 
Saint- Aulaire: 

"  Je  suis  las  de  I'esprit,  il  me  met  en  courroux, 
II  me  renverse  la  cervelle  ; 
Lambert,  je  vais  chercher  un  asile  chez  vous, 
Entre  La  Motte  et  Fontenelle."* 


*  "  I  am  weary  of  wit,  my  brain  has  grown  weak, 
I  fain  would  escape  from  its  spell; 
Lambert,  with  you  an  asylum  I  seek, 
Between  La  Motte  and  Fontenelle." 


THE  DUC  DU  MAINE.  ^ 

This  "  divinity,"  as  Saint-Aulaire  elsewhere  poeti- 
cally speaks  of  the  Duchesse  du  Maine,  was  well  spiced 
with  diablerie.  She  was,  indeed,  a  wonderful  little 
woman.  That  pugnacity  of  spirit  and  impatience  of 
control  which  distinguished  the  Great  Conde,  whose 
granddaughter  she  was,  had  descended  to  her.  Cond6, 
in  his  boyhood,  would  smash  the  windows  and  destroy 
everything  that  lay  within  his  reach,  if  rain  or  other 
caprices  of  weather  occurred  to  upset  any  plans  of 
recreation  he  had  formed.  Happily  these  propensities 
found  vent  in  the  destruction  of  the  enemies  of  France, 
and  the  impetuousness  of  his  character  made  him  a 
hero,  and  the  commander  of  armies,  while  yet  a  mere 
youth. 

The  valor  of  the  duchess  was  less  signally  rewarded. 
She  commanded  her  husband,  and  to  her  iron  rule  the 
sluggishness  of  his  nature  induced  ready  obedience. 
But  when  it  became  a  question  of  rousing  him  to  that 
display  of  energy  which,  it  was  believed,  would  secure 
the  influential  position  assigned  to  him  by  the  late 
king's  will,  the  goadings  of  the  duchess  were  power- 
less. The  translation  of  the  "  Anti-Lucretius,"  by 
which  the  duke  vainly  hoped  to  obtain  the  first  vacant 
chair  in  the  Academy,  and  the  completion  of  his  col- 
lection of  snuff-boxes — of  which  he  already  had  nearly 
two  thousand  rich  specimens  —  were  spells  of  more 
potency  than  the  storming  of  the  valiant  little  duchess 
was  able  to  overcome,  though  spurred  on  by  an  am- 
bitious desire  of  wielding  the  sceptre  of  the  regency. 

However,  she  had  recently  availed  herself  of  an 
opportunity  of  giving  vent  to  her  outraged  feelings; 
her  prowess  being  exhibited  in  making  war  on  the 
mirrors,  furniture,  and  ornamental  portions  of  her 
apartments  in  the  Tuileries.     M.  le  Due,  who  was  a 


46  'rtlE   OLD  REGIME. 

nephew  of  the  duchess,  having  attained  his  majority, 
again  applied  for  the  superintendence  of  the  king's 
education.  The  regent  and  his  adviser,  Dubois,  hated 
Du  Maine,  and  were  glad  to  cast  further  disgrace 
upon  him.  The  little  king,  then  seven  years  old,  was 
therefore  made  to  repeat,  at  a  lit-de-justice,  that  it  was 
his  royal  will  and  pleasure  Du  Maine  should  be  super- 
seded. He  was  then  ordered  to  resign,  and  appears 
to  have  been  glad  to  do  so. 

Far  otherwise  the  duchess.  When  informed  that 
the  apartment  in  the  palace  which  the  post  gave  a 
right  to  must  be  ceded  to  M.  le  Due,  her  rage  was 
boundless.  "  I  will  resign  it,"  she  at  last  exclaimed, 
"yes,  I  will  give  up  the  apartment."  Snatching  up  a 
rich  porcelain  vase  that  stood  too  near  at  hand,  she 
dashed  it  into  the  wood  fire  then  blazing  on  the 
hearth.  With  the  fire-irons  she  attacked  the  mirrors, 
smashed  them,  and  injured  the  frames.  Finding 
strength  in  her  fury,  she  destroyed  and  damaged  a 
large  portion  of  furniture,  dealing  about  blows  with 
so  much  force  and  rapidity,  that  the  work  of  demo- 
lition went  on  without  any  among  the  awe-stricken 
witnesses  of  it  venturing  to  stay  her  hand.  At  length 
she  succumbed  to  exhaustion,  and  was  carried  away 
by  her  attendants,  leaving  for  the  occupation  of 
her  successor  a  battle-ground  strewed  with  the  tro- 
phies of  her  victory. 

This  desperate  little  woman  was  then  about  thirty 
years  of  age.  In  height  and  figure  Madame  informs 
us  she  had  the  appearance  of  a  child  of  ten.  When 
Louis  XIV.  desired  his  son  to  choose  a  wife,  and 
ordered  M.  le  Prince  to  give  him  one  of  his  daughters, 
Du  Maine  selected  the  Princess  Anne-Louise,  because 
she  was  the  fraction  of  an  inch  taller,  or,  rather,  less 


PORTRAIT  OF  THE  DUCHESS, 


41 


short,  than  her  elder  sister.  She  was  not  exactly  a 
little  fairy  thing,  or  miniature  Venus.  The  not  un- 
usual deformity  of  a  displaced  and  enlarged  shoulder 
was  fatal  to  the  symmetry  of  her  slight  figure.  Her 
mouth  was  large,  and  she  opened  it  widely,  display- 
ing, unfortunately,  a  very  bad  set  of  teeth.  But  she 
had  fine  eyes,  a  fair  complexion,  and  light  hair.  She 
rouged  very  highly,  as  most  ladies  did.  **Yet,"  adds 
Madame,  "  she  might  have  passed  muster  had  she  not 
been  insupportably  malignant." 

This  malignant  little  sprite,  when  in  Paris,  was 
often  to  be  found  in  the  salon  Lambert,  on  Tuesdays — 
very  patronizing  to  the  women,  who  were  sufficiently 
obsequious;  very  gracious  to  the  men,  who  extolled 
her  wit  and  paid  court  to  her  as  a  beauty.  This  was 
especially  the  case  before  the  death  of  Louis  XIV. 

The  little  duchess  was  then  looking  forward  to  be 
the  dispenser  of  court  favors.  As  a  quasi  queen,  she 
would  no  doubt  have  ruled  the  court,  the  camp,  and 
the  nation  generally  with  a  very  high  hand.  But  not 
only  were  these  flattering  hopes  dispelled — still  further 
ignominy  was  cast  on  her  husband,  by  the  decree  de- 
priving him,  though  conceded  to  his  brother,  of  the 
rank  conferred  upon  him  when  legitimated. 

The  duke  was  content  to  retire  into  private  life; 
but  declined  to  concur  in  the  decree,  and  consent  to 
his  own  degradation  in  order  to  obtain  certain  prom- 
ised concessions.  He,  however,  would  not  openly  re- 
sist his  enemies.  He  is  said  to  have  feared  the  con- 
fiscation of  a  part  of  his  immense  wealth  had  he  shown 
himself  very  refractory.  The  duchess  was  of  course 
outrageous.  "  Nothing  then  is  left  to  me,"  she  said, 
"  but  the  disgrace  of  having  condescended  to  marry 
you."     She  thought  as  much  of  her  rank  as  did  Saint- 


4^  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

Simon  himself;  but  with  greater  excuse  for  it  Re- 
tiring from  Paris,  she  made  diligent  examination  into 
the  genealogies  of  all  the  bar-sinister  offshoots  of  the 
old  kings  of  France.  Musty  volumes  and  parchments 
lay  open  on  her  bed,  and  were  scattered  pell-mell 
about  her  chamber.  So  fully  did  the  subject  take 
possession  of  her  mind,  that  she  could  turn  her 
thoughts  to  no  other.  Her  nights  were  sleepless,  and 
Mdlle.  Delaunay,  who  was  then  of  the  household  of 
the  duchess,  was  charged  with  the  pleasant  duty  of 
reading  her  vivacious  mistress  to  sleep.  But  she  gave 
little  heed  to  the  romances  and  stories  that  had  been 
selected — of  course,  for  their  somniferous  qualities. 
In  the  very  midst  of  some  drowsy  scene  that  ought  to 
have  closed  her  eyelids,  she  would  startle  her  reader — 
herself  nodding  over  her  book — with  some  profound 
remark;  showing  that  she  still  was  perfectly  wide 
awake,  but  had  been  musing  only  on  the  rights  and 
privileges  accorded  to  some  brave  Dunois,  or  other 
left-handed  Enfant  de  France.  We  will  leave  her  for 
the  present  to  her  genealogical  studies,  and  to  the 
treason,  stratagems,  and  plots  she  is  meditating. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Royal  Academy  of  Music— Opera,  Paniers,  and  Masks. — "See 
Paris,  and  Die!" — Waiteau's  Early  Studies.— Costumes  k  la 
Watteau.— Bals  de  I'Opfcra.— La  Duchesse  de  Berri.— La 
Duchessc,  en  reine. — La  Duchesse,  en  penitence. — Le  Comte 
de  Riom. — Mdme.  de  Maintenon's  Nieces. 

"We  French,"  said  Saint-Foix,  "are  a  singing  and 
dancing  people."  Yet  for  near  twenty  years  Louis 
XIV.,  who  in  earlier  days  so  delighted  in  displaying 
his  agility  before  admiring  crowds  of  spectators,  had 
prevented  his  people,  as  far  as  was  possible,  from 
amusing  themselves  in  the  same  lively  way.  His  own 
dancing  days  were  over;  and  his  religion  was  less 
jubilant  than  that  of  King  David  of  Israel.  But, 
"  times  change,  and  manners  with  them." 

One  of  the  first  results  of  the  Orleans  rule  was  the 
revival  of  the  taste  for  theatrical  amusements.  There 
were  then  but  two  theatres  in  Paris — the  Theatre 
Fran9ais  and  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music.  Both 
had  met,  at  least  for  some  years,  with  but  very  lan- 
guid support,  and  seemed  in  a  fair  way  of  having  per- 
manently to  close  their  doors.  The  Academy  still 
occupied  the  Sa//e  of  the  Palais  Royal,  given  by  Louis 
XIV.  to  LuUi,  on  the  death  of  Moliere.  Francine  was 
now  its  nominal  director,  though  the  management, 
since  171 2,  had  been  actually  carried  on  by  a  com- 
mittee of  creditors.  The  privileges  originally  granted 
to  Lulli  were  continued  to  his  successor,  who  was  his 
son-in-law. 


44  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

But  the  palmy  days  of  court  favor  had  passed  away. 
The  receipts  of  the  Royal  Academy  fell  off,  until  at 
length  the  expenses  of  management  exceeded  them  in 
amount,  and  Francine  found  himself  burdened  with  a 
debt  of  upwards  of  thirteen  thousand  pounds.  Three 
representations  were  given  weekly,  and  the  Salle  was 
always  well  filled.  But  it  was  comparatively  small. 
A  very  large  proportion,  too,  of  the  space  in  \h^  par- 
terre was  occupied  by  the  free  seats  of  members  of  the 
royal  household,  while  the  boxes  taken  by  the  year, 
rented  chiefly  by  the  financier  class,  were  remarkably 
spacious  for  the  small  number  of  persons  supposed  to 
have  chairs  in  them.  One  lady,  probably,  with  her 
enormous /^//z>r.f,  counted  for  three. 

The  city  still  took  its  tone  from  the  court,  and  the 
court  becoming  yet  more  devout,  the  opera  of  the 
Academy,  under  the  committee,  continued  to  be  a 
losing  speculation.  When  ladies  connected  with  the 
court  perchance  went  to  the  theatre,  to  save  appear- 
ances and  avoid  probable  disfavor  if  recognized,  they 
always  wore  masks.  Unlet  boxes  and  the  seats  at  the 
disposal  of  the  management  were,  as  often  as  not, 
largely  occupied  by  friends  of  certain  singers  and 
dancers,  whose  vanity  was  flattered  by  boundless 
applause,  but  not  a  sou  was  contributed  towards  their 
salaries.  The  Due  d'Orleans  and  his  intimates  were 
frequently  present;  but  wherever  they  went  was 
tabooed  ground  to  the  courtiers  of  Versailles. 

Distinguished  foreigners,  and  English  travellers 
especially,  in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
began  to  visit  Paris  more  frequently  than  before,  and 
of  course  they  went  to  the  Opera.  The  fame  of  Paris 
had  spread  far  and  wide  as  the  *'  city  of  magnificence 
and  pleasure."     But,  as  often  happens  with  what  is 


SEE  PARIS,  AND  DIET 


45 


greatly  bepraised,  its  reputation  was  much  beyond  its 
deserts,  so  far  as  concerned  its  outward  aspect.  The 
utmost  that  can  be  said  for  old  Paris,  in  that  respect, 
is  that  no  European  city  could  surpass  it  in  dirt  and 
discomfort,  and  in  the  squalid  appearance  of  its  nar- 
row, dark,  dirty  streets.  Its  attractions  were  all  within 
doors.  The  formal  Englishman  was  pleased  with  the 
gayety,  ease,  and  politeness  of  the  French.  The  taste- 
fully furnished  apartments  must  have  been  charming 
to  eyes  accustomed  to  the  stiff,  unrelenting  Calvinism 
(if  such  an  application  of  the  term  be  allowable)  of 
the  rigidly  designed  William  III.  and  Queen  Anne 
furniture. 

"See  Paris,  and  die!"  the  Parisians  were  accus- 
tomed to  say.  Die,  indeed!  What,  by  the  pestilence, 
or  by  the  dagger  of  the  assassin^which  was  not  an 
unfrequent  occurrence  ?  Better  go  to  the  Opera,  and 
live,  and  rejoice  at  what  you  have  seen  there.  For  the 
eye  was  always  gratified  by  the  beauty  of  the  scenery 
and  the  charmingly  picturesque  costumes  of  the 
dancers.  All  the  world  did  not  admire  the  music  of 
Lulli.  But  every  one  was  delighted  with  the  produc- 
tions of  the  fanciful  genius  of  Watteau.  It  was  he 
who  painted  the  scenery  and  designed  the  dresses.  In 
the  painting-room  of  the  Opera-house — as  an  untu- 
tored lad,  assistant  to  a  mediocre  scene-painter — Wat- 
teau learned  his  art.  It  was  there  he  perfected  his 
style,  after  a  short  absence  spent  in  the  atelier  of 
Mitayer,  painting  Madonnas,  Magdalens,  and  saints 
by  the  dozen  (then  greatly  in  request)  for  three  francs 
a  week,  with  a  daily  mess  of  soup  generously  thrown 
into  the  bargain. 

Poor  Watteau! — in  those  early  days  of  poverty  and 
suffering  were  sown  the  seeds  of  consumption  that 


4^  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

carried  him  off  too  soon.  Just,  too,  as  fortune  had 
turned  so  smilingly  towards  him,  and  his  "  Venus  em- 
barking for  the  Isle  of  Cythere"  had  opened  for  him 
the  door  of  the  Academy  of  Painting;  just  when  his 
pictures  and  panels  were  eagerly  in  demand;  when 
every  lady's  ambition  was  to  secure  a  Watteau-painted 
fan.  The  painter  worked  day  and  night,  but  death 
had  already  set  his  seal  on  him;  and  after  seeking,  of 
all  climates  in  the  world,  relief  in  England,  Watteau, 
in  1 72 1,  at  the  age  of  thirty-six,  breathed  his  last.  His 
natural  genius  was  never  directed  by  any  great  master 
of  his  art.  He  was  almost  self-taught.  Connoisseurs 
have  compared  him,  as  a  colorist,  with  Paul  Veronese. 
If  he  did  not  exactly  reproduce  nature  in  his  pictures, 
it  was  nature  with  a  difference  that  was  at  least  very 
charming.  His  costumes  were  truly  costumes  a  la 
Watteau.  They  were  of  no  period,  no  class;  but  were 
designed  in  the  fairyland  of  the  artist's  fancy,  and 
belonged  exclusively  to  the  graceful  maidens  and 
youthful  shepherdesses  who  figured  in  the  ballets  and 
operatic  fetes  champetres. 

What  a  pity  that  all  the  beauty  of  scenic  effect,  pic- 
turesque dress,  and  perfection  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  operatic  stage,  should  have  been  half  lost  to  the 
audience  by  the  wretched  lighting  up  of  tallow  can- 
dles. When  Law,  the  financier,  was  made  Conseiller 
d'etat  by  the  regent,  he  gained  further  popularity  with 
the  pleasure-loving  public  of  Paris,  during  his  brief 
term  of  power,  by  substituting  wax  for  tallow  in  the 
lighting  of  the  Salle  de  I'Opera.  He  is  said  to  have 
done  this  at  his  own  expense;  but  whether  or  not,  the 
reform  continued  until  the  glaring,  smoky  oil-lamps 
were  introduced.  Some  changes  and  improvements 
were  made  at  the  same  time  in  the  arrangement  of  the 


LA  DUCHESSE  DE  BERRI.  47 

boxes,  and  the  Royal  Academy  of  Music  entered  upon 
a  more  successful  career. 

It  was  then  that  the  bah  de  V Opera  were  established. 
They  were  suggested  by  the  Prince  d'Auvergne,  Comte 
de  Bouillon,  and  the  privilege  of  holding  them  was 
granted  to  the  Academy  of  Music  by  the  regent's  let- 
ters patent.  These  balls,  from  that  time  to  this,  have 
maintained  an  evil  reputation,  though  they  were  pro- 
posed with  a  view  of  counteracting  the  disorderly 
scenes  which  took  place  at  such  assemblies  when  held 
in  unauthorized  places.  At  the  opera  balls,  a  military 
guard  did  the  duty  of  police,  and  all  brawling  and 
outward  indecorum  were  to  be  checked  by  a  rigid  sur- 
veillarue.  But  the  regent,  himself ;  the  Due  de  Noailles, 
Ministre  de  Finance  ;  M.  de  Rouille,  Conseiller  d'etat, 
and  one  or  two  others  holding  high  offices  in  the  gov- 
ernment, so  far  forgot  what  they  owed  to  society  and 
to  their  o.vn  p^osition,  as  to  appear  at  these  balls  after 
having  indulged  too  freely  in  the  pleasures  of  the 
table.  At  the  opera,  the  ladies  no  longer  wore  masks, 
but  at  the  opera  balls  they  wore  both  mask  and  domino, 
which  sufficed,  charitably  or  otherwise,  to  cover  a  mul- 
titude of  sins.  Irregularity  of  conduct,  therefore,  in- 
stead of  receiving  a  check,  met  with  encouragement 
from  these  balls  under  distinguished  patronage. 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  having  heard  from  her  niece 
of  the  bah  de  Foperay  writes:  "I  am  afraid  of  these 
balls,  though  they  tell  me  perfect  order  is  observed. 
The  regent  and  his  presidents  do  not  dance  at 
them." 

The  Duchesse  de  Berri,  eldest  daughter  of  the  re- 
gent, was  a  constant  frequenter  of  the  Salle  de  I'Opera. 
She  was  in  mourning  for  her  husband  when  Louis 
XIV.  died,  and  had  resolved  to  shorten  by  one  half 


48  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

the  usual  period  of  wearing  it.  Having  done  so  as 
regarded  the  duke,  she  persuaded  the  regent  to  cur- 
tail, in  the  same  proportion,  the  mourning  for  the  king. 
The  tearful  time  of  black  and  violet  being  past,  the 
duchess,  whose  fancy  it  was  to  play  the  queen  during 
the  regency,  appointed  for  herself  four  ladies-in-wait- 
ing. In  one  of  the  grandest  of  the  royal  carriages 
with  six  gayly  caparisoned  horses,  she  then  set  out, 
splendidly  dressed,  on  a  royal  progress  through  the 
good  city  of  Paris.  A  company  of  guards  preceded 
her,  followed  by  a  grand  flourish  of  trumpets  and  a 
clashing  and  banging  of  cymbals.  Great,  indeed,  was 
the  sensation.  Heads  out  of  every  window ;  women 
and  children  trooping  out  from  tv&ry  porte  cochire ;  and 
every  one  inquiring  of  his  neighbor  who  this  royal  lady 
could  be.  Those  who  did  not  recognize  Madame  de 
Berri  supposed  this  pretentious  personage  to  be  the 
Duchesse  de  Lorraine,  the  regent's  sister,  then  in  Paris 
with  her  husband  and  her  husband's  chere  amte,  to  do 
homage  for  the  duke's  duchy  of  Bar. 

In  the  evening,  early  visitors  to  the  opera  were  sur- 
prised to  see  a  da'is  with  canopy  of  crimson  velvet 
prepared.  Presently,  in  grand  state,  arrived  the  Du- 
chesse de  Berri.  Having  taken  her  seat,  four  of  the 
ladies  and  four  gentlemen  of  her  newly  appointed 
household  grouped  themselves  gracefully  around  her. 
The  rest  of  her  suite  took  up  their  position  in  the  pit, 
while  her  guards  remained  in  attendance.  The  regent 
was  inclined  to  laugh  at  and  to  tolerate  this  freak. 
Not  so  the  public.  Not  so  the  ladies  of  either  of  the 
sections  into  which  society  was  then  divided — the  trh 
respectable  of  the  old  court;  Xh^  pen  reputable  of  the  new. 
The  outcry  was  general.  Friends  and  foes  alike, 
even  the  loyal  band  of  roues^  protested,  and  the  regent 


LE    COMTE  DE  RIOM. 


49 


was  compelled  to  put  a  stop  to  folly  that  threatened 
very  serious  results. 

The  Duchesse  de  Berri  was  suspected,  unjustly  per- 
haps, of  having  poisoned  her  husband;  but  the  ir- 
regularities of  her  conduct  had  alienated  from  her  all 
sympathy  and  respect.  Her  annoyance  on  this  occa- 
sion was  extreme.  For  consolation  she  flew  to  the 
convent  of  the  Carmelites,  and  spent  a  day  or  two 
there,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do  after  a  course  of 
dissipation.  That  short  season  of  retirement  and 
prayer,  confession  and  absolution,  cleared  the  con- 
science and  gave  tone  to  the  nerves.  Erring  ladies 
left  the  comfortable  quarters  provided  for  them  in 
that  rigid  monastic  retreat,  again  to  plunge  into  the 
whirlpool  of  pleasure,  with  the  certainty  of  shortly 
reappearing  at  the  convent  gates,  as  fair  penitents 
with  a  fresh  burden  of  sins  to  be  relieved  of. 

On  again  visiting  the  opera,  the  Duchesse  de  Berri 
went  incognita,  in  a  very  plain  carriage  belonging  to 
the  Comte  de  Riom,  and  occupied  a  small  grated  box, 
where  she  could  see  without  being  seen.  She  had 
privately  married  this  Comte  de  Riom,  disregarding 
the  fact  of  his  being  a  Knight  of  Malta,  which  he  had 
become  at  her  instigation,  though  his  family  had  in- 
tended him  for  the  Church.  Singularly  enough,  he 
was  grand-nephew  of  the  Due  de  Lauzun — still  liv- 
ing, and  approaching  his  ninetieth  year — who,  fifty 
years  before,  had  privately  married  another  Mdlle.  de 
Montpensier.  The  parallel  went  further.  For  with 
the  same  harshness  as  Lauzun  had  treated  "  la  grande 
Mademoiselle,"  the  Comte  de  Riom  now  behaved 
towards  the  duchess.  In  the  Luxembourg  Palace, 
and  probably  in  the  same  splendid  apartment  that  the 
Due  de  Lauzun  had   once  occupied,  now  dwelt  the 


50  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

Comte  de  Riom;  the  duchess  being,  as  stated  by  Du- 
clos,  "an  absolute  slave  to  his  caprices" — just  as  Ma- 
demoiselle had  been  infatuated  with  Lauzun.  Yet  the 
count  appears  to  have  been  a  less  attractive  person 
than  his  uncle.  "He  was  ugly,"  says  Duclos;  "face 
covered  with  pimples;  polite  to  all  the  world;  insolent 
toward  the  princess." 

What  with  extreme  jealousy  on  her  side,  extrava- 
gance and  free  living  on  his,  scenes  that  are  not  pleas- 
ing to  dwell  upon  often  occurred  between  them.  In 
the  correspondence  of  Madame  de  Caylus  with  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon  during  her  last  years  at  St.  Cyr, 
the  duchess  is  often  alluded  to.  Alluded  to  only. 
They  probably  feared  to  write  openly;  for  Madame  de 
Caylus,  whose  pension  had  been  reduced  in  amount — 
like  all  those  granted  by  the  late  king,  except  that  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  which  the  regent  paid  regu- 
larly as  well  as  in  full — had  an  apartment  in  the  Lux- 
embourg, which  she  occupied  by  favor  of  the  Du- 
chesse  de  Berri.  One  seems  to  detect  in  the  letters  of 
Madame  de  Caylus  that  much  is  withheld  of  doings 
at  the  Luxembourg;  probably  because  she  has  had  a 
larger  share  in  them  than  she  would  perhaps  care  to 
acknowledge. 

"  I  hear,"  writes  Madame  de  Maintenon,  "  that  you 
and  Madame  de  Noailles  (her  other  niece)  are  giving 
suppers  at  the  Luxembourg.  The  expense  they  in- 
volve, and  the  disorder,  I  am  told,  that  prevails  at 
them,  cause  me  extreme  pain.  The  new  pensions  are 
rarely  paid.  Distress  is  prevalent;  all  classes  are  suf- 
fering from  it.  Yet  every  day  we  hear  that  the  regent 
has  made  some  new  gift  to  his  mistresses,  or  con- 
firmed to  them  some  claim  on  the  taxes.    Such  an 


MADAME  D£  MAINTENON'S  NIECES.  51 

employment  of  the  public  money  excites  many  mur- 
murs and  complaints. 

"  The  young  king,  they  tell  me,  is  very  obstinate; 
but  he  will  grow  out  of  that  as  he  grows  older.  The 
teachings  of  M.  de  Fr6jus  (Fleury)  and  our  Mar^chal 
(Villeroi)  will,  I  trust,  supply  the  remedy  for  it.  He 
has  sent  me  his  portrait,  painted,  or  rather  daubed 
{*  barbouilW)  by  himself.  The  Mar6chal  has  promised 
me  that  he  will  not  take  him  again  to  see  Madame  de 
Berri  at  the  Luxembourg." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Return  of  the  Italian  Troupe. — Les  Troupes  Foraines. — Vaudeville 
and  Op6ra  Comique. — Winter  and  Summer  Fairs. — Theatre 
de  la  Foire  suppressed. 

The  Italian  comedians,  since  their  banishment  from 
Paris  in  1699,  had  frequently  solicited  permission  to 
return.  But  the  king  was  inexorable.  A  piece  called 
"La  Fausse  Prude,"  containing  allusions  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon  and  the  sanctimonious  court  of  Ver- 
sailles, or  which  the  audience  had  interpreted  as  such 
and  received  with  much  mirth,  had  given  him  great 
offence.  Denial  of  any  such  intention  availed  not., 
The  theatre  was  closed;  the  Italians  were  driven  from 
the  hotel;  the  lieutenant  of  police  locked  the  doors, 
put  the  keys  in  his  pocket;  and  the  troop  received 
orders  to  leave  the  country  immediately.  Venturing 
to  appeal  to  the  king  against  a  decree  so  harsh  and  so 
ruinous  to  them,  he  remarked — "  They  had  nothing  to 
complain  of.  They  were  able  to  return  to  Italy  in 
their  carriages,  though  when  invited  to  France  they 
had  made  the  journey  on  foot." 

However,  in  17 18,  the  Italians  returned.  The  Coun- 
cillor of  State,  Rouille,  persuaded  the  regent  to  allow 
them  to  take  up  their  old  quarters  in  the  Hotel  de  Bour- 
gogne,  and  to  assume  the  appellation  of  "  Comediens 
du  Regent,"  Biancotelli  only,  of  the  original  troop, 
came  with  them;  for  nineteen  years  had  elapsed  since 
their  expulsion.     But  the  new  troop  soon  became  es- 


LES  TROUPES  PO RAINES.  53 

tablished  favorites.  They  were  not  only  clever  actors, 
but  able  to  extend  their  popularity  (Italian  being  little 
understood  by  the  bourgeoisie)  by  giving  alternate  per- 
formances of  the  same  pieces  in  Italian  and  French.* 
The  Theatre  Italien,  thus  becoming  partly  French, 
proved  a  formidable  rival  to  the  Royal  Academy,  also 
to  the  Op6ra  Comique. 

The  players  who  had  given  the  latter  title  to  their 
performances  were  called  troupes  foraines^  and  might 
be  classed  as  a  company  of  strollers,  having  no  recog- 
nized local  habitation  but  the  temporary  theatres 
erected  on  a  portion  of  the  ground  where  the  summer 
and  winter  fairs  of  St.  Germain  and  St.  Laurent  were 
held.  A  desperate  struggle  the  directors  had  had  for 
some  years  to  keep  the  troop  together,  and  to  main- 
tain their  footing  in  the  face  of  the  various  decrees 
issued  for  their  suppression.  That  they  succeeded  in 
doing  so  at  all  was  probably  owing,  as  Saint- Foixf 
says,  to  the  fact  that,  licentious  though  they  were, 
they  represented  the  wit  and  vivacity  characteristic  of 
the  French,  as  no  other  troop  did,  and  were  largely 
patronized  in  consequence.  But  the  Theatre  Fran- 
^ais  had  obtained  a  decree  that  silenced  their  eloquent 
tongues,  and  permitted  them  to  play  pantomime  only. 
This  they  endeavored,  for  a  year  or  two,  partly  to 
evade  by  the  comical  device  of  unrolling  long  slips  of 
paper,  on  which  were  written,  as  sometimes  one  sees 
in  caricatures,  the   speeches  they  were   forbidden  to 

*  Louis  Riccoboni,  the  author  of  four  successful  French  plays 
and  several  critical  and  historical  works  connected  with  theatrical 
subjects,  was  one  of  these  Italian  comedians.  Madame  Riccoboni, 
whose  romances  were  so  popular  about  the  middle  of  the  century, 
was  his  wife. 

f  "  Essais  Historiques." 


54  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

speak,  and  which  were  intended  to  make  clear  to  the 
audience  what  looks  and  gestures,  however  eloquent, 
might  have  failed  to  convey. 

But  this  clumsy  method  of  giving  a  play,  after  hav- 
ing been  once  or  twice  laughed  at,  became  wearisome, 
both  to  actors  and  audience,  and  eventually  was  given 
up.  The  directors  of  the  troop  then  entered  into  an 
arrangement  with  the  Academy  of  Music,  which  had 
the  power  of  suppressing  musical  entertainments,  and 
for  a  good  round  sum  bought  the  privilege  of  playing 
vaudeville  and  comic  opera  during  the  fairs  of  St. 
Germain  and  St.  Laurent.  The  new  entertainment 
provided  was  not  remarkably  refined.  But  the  pieces 
were  sparkling  and  witty;  no  less  attractive  to  the 
court  of  the  regent  than  to  the  throng  of  sellers  and 
buyers  who  came  from  far  and  near  to  these  fairs,  for 
business  or  pleasure.  A  thriving  trade  they  carried 
on  there.  The  good  housewives  supplied  themselves 
with  linens  and  woollens,  and  other  useful  goods,  and 
the  itinerent  merchants  took  away  "articles  de  Paris" 
for  the  provinces.  Everything  was  sold  but  firearms 
and  books;  but  veracious  lives  of  saints,  and  accounts 
of  well-attested  miracles,  were  excepted  from  the  pro- 
hibition laid  on  the  latter.  The  ground  on  which  the 
booths  stood  belonged  to  the  neighboring  monaste- 
ries, and  was  leased  out  by  the  monks  in  small  plots. 
An  open  shop,  with  a  small  room  over  it,  was  built  on 
each,  and  disposed  in  long  lines  under  halles ;  the 
woodwork  of  which  at  the  St.  Germain  fair  was  much 
admired  for  its  tasteful,  if  somewhat  rudely  executed 
sculpture.  At  the  St.  Laurent,  or  summer  fair,  an 
avenue  of  chestnut  trees  formed  a  shady  promenade, 
and  the  shops  were  erected  on  either  side  of  it. 

The   theatres   occupied   a   large   space   of   ground. 


A    THEATRE  SUPPRESSED.    '  55 

They  were  not  of  the  travelling-caravan  type  of  the 
Old  English  Richardson  days;  but  were  built  up  to 
be  fixtures  on  the  ground  as  long  as  the  fairs  lasted. 
And  as  an  extension  of  time  was  frequently  asked, 
and,  bringing  good  profits  to  the  monks,  as  frequently 
granted,  the  two  fairs,  from  being  originally  held  on 
the  fete  days  only  of  St.  Germain  and  St.  Laurent, 
now  divided  between  them  the  greater  part  of  the 
year.  The  shopkeepers  gradually  left  to  attend  other 
fairs  ;  but  the  comic  opera  was  by  no  means  in  a 
hurry  to  bring  its  season  to  a  close.  Le  Sage,  the 
author  of  "Gil  Bias;"  Dorneval  ;  Fuzelier;  and  the 
witty  and  dissolute  Piron,  wrote  the  vaudevilles  and 
songs,  which,  with  the  lively  music  and  dancing,  so 
pleased  the  Parisians  that  the  audience  soon  became 
too  large  for  the  theatre.  The  directors,  therefore,  pro- 
posed to  erect  one  on  a  larger  scale. 

The  Th6atre  Fran^ais,  however,  had  experienced  a 
great  falling  off  in  its  receipts.  The  actors  were  also 
not  a  little  indignant  at  the  preference  shown  for  this 
troupe  foraine^  at  the  expense  of  "  Les  comediens  du 
roi."  Should  Piron  and  Le  Sage  be  allowed  to  cast 
Moliere,  Racine,  and  Corneille  into  the  shade?  A 
representation  on  the  subject  was  made  in  high  quar- 
ters, which  resulted  in  the  suppression,  in  17 18,  of  the 
spirituel^  but  licentious,  Theatre  de  la  Foire.  The  di- 
rectors appealed  to  the  Parliament;  but  the  Parlia- 
ment only  confirmed  the  decree.  Yet,  tenacious  of 
life,  the  Theatre  de  la  Foire  for  a  number  of  years  con- 
trived to  exist  through  alternate  revivals  and  suppres- 
sions ;  until  comic  opera,  having  assumed  "  a  tone 
more  decent,"  though  none  the  less  spirttziel,  forsook 
the  scene  of  its  early  successes,  and  established  itself 
in  Paris  with  eclat. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Michel  Baron. — Bembourg,  as  N6ron. — Horace  and  Camille. — 
Adrienne  Le  Couvreur. — Ths.  Corneille's  "  Comte  d'Essex." — 
Baron  Returns  to  the  Stage. — A  Caesar;  a  Baron;  a  Roscius. 
— A  Second  Triumphant  D6but, — The  First  Baron  of  France. 
— The  Grand  Pretre,  in  "Athalie." — The  Prince  and  the 
Actor. — "  Mon  Pauvre  Boyron." — An  Actress's  Dinners  and 
Suppers, — Results  of  Popularity. — Voltaire  and  his  Nurse. — 
Galland's  ' '  Arabian  Nights. " 

It  seems  singular  that  a  place  of  amusement  of 
an  inferior  grade,  which,  without  interference  or  re- 
monstrance, had  been  allowed  to  exist  during  the 
latter  years  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  should  have 
been  suppressed  under  the  regency.  And,  more  sur- 
prising still,  because  of  the  need  of  "  a  purification  of 
the  repertory  ;  because  respectable  people  could  no 
longer  endure  such  pieces."  Its  toleration  at  a  time 
of  supposed  general  piety  has  been  accounted  for  as 
being  a  necessary  concession  to  the  populace,  "  to 
divert  the  people  from  their  misery."  A  sad  confes- 
sion that  manners,  as  M.  Bungener  remarks,  needed 
but  little  change  to  become  openly  what,  secretly, 
they  can  scarcely  be  said  to  have  ceased  to  be — bad. 

During  the  temporary  eclipse  of  the  Theatre  de  la 
Foire  and  its  Opera  Comique,  which  had  proved  so 
attractive  a  rival  to  the  legitimate  drama,  one  star 
of  the  Theatre  Frangais  disappeared.  Another  bril- 
liant one,  however,  arose,  yet  not  to  take  the  place  of 

the   latter,   Mdlle. 


MICHEL  BAJtOX. 


S7 


Adrienne  Le  Couvreur.  Bembourg  had  made  a  great 
reputation  in  the  course  of  the  twenty-nine  years  of 
his  theatrical  career.  Yet  it  would  seem  to  have  been 
owing  less  to  superior  ability  or  genius  on  his  part 
than  to  the  general  mediocrity  of  histrionic  talent  at 
that  period. 

The  great  Michel  Baron  withdrew  from  the  stage  in 
the  same  year  that  Bembourg  made  his  dibut.  He  was 
at  the  very  height  of  his  fame,  and  comparatively 
young,  not  more  than  thirty-nine.  He  had  conceived 
an  intense  disgust  for  a  profession  which,  however 
excellent  his  conduct  and  private  character  might  be, 
branded  him  as  an  outcast  before  God  and  man. 
Strange  inconsistency,  too;  that  which,  as  a  profes- 
sion, brought  a  curse  upon  him  both  for  time  and  eter- 
nity, was  with  impunity  pursued  as  an  amusement  by 
royalty,  by  great  lords  and  great  ladies.  They  might 
not  only  have  theatres  in  their  hotels,  as  most  of  them 
had,  but  it  was  permitted  to  them  to  dance  and  sing, 
and  to  perform  plays  in  public,  as  they  often  did,  yet 
without  derogating  from  dignity,  without  imperilling 
salvation.  These  were  things  that  Baron  found  "  hard 
to  be  understood."  He  therefore  withdrew  in  1691, 
and  left  a  clear  stage  for  Bembourg. 

Bembourg  was  one  of  those  actors  who  "  tear  a 
passion  to  tatters."  For  anger,  he  exhibited  ferocity, 
and  stormed,  raged,  and  shrieked  rather  than  fretted 
his  hour  on  the  stage.  Le  Sage  satirized  him  se- 
verely. But  Le  Sage  was  an  unfriendly  and  partial 
critic.  The  vaudeville  writer  of  the  Theatre  de  la 
Foire  could  hardly  be  expected  to  find  praise  for  the 
shouting  and  screaming  of  Corneille  by  the  actors  of 
the  Theatre  Frangais,  who  did  their  best  to  put  down 
comic  opera. 


0  THE  OLD  RAgIME. 

Bembourg,  as  Neron  in  "  Britannicus,"  is  said  to 
have  been  so  furious  that  it  taxed  the  strongest  nerves 
to  witness  his  performance.  He  yelled  and  raved  so 
fearfully,  that  women  were  compelled  to  leave  the 
theatre.  Le  Mazurier  relates  that,  on  one  occasion, 
when  "  Les  Horaces "  was  given,  the  imprecation 
scene  was  made  so  terrible  by  Bembourg's  fury,  that 
Mdlle.  Duclos,  who  played  Camille,  appeared  to  be 
quite  overpowered  by  it.  She  fled  across  the  stage 
with  so  much  precipitancy  that,  ere  she  could  reach 
the  side  scenes,  she  fell. 

Horace,  then,  descending  from  the  sublime  heights 
of  his  tragic  rage  to  become,  for  the  moment,  only 
Bembourg  the  actor,  sank  thus  to  the  depths  of  the 
ridiculous.  For,  instead  of  continuing  the  scene  by 
turning  the  accident  to  account  and  stabbing  Camille, 
there  and  then  (which  the  play-going  Abbe  Nadal 
considered  the  singularity  of  the  contretemps  would 
have  justified),  Horace  took  off  his  hat, — of  course  he 
was  in  full  court  dress, — and  politely  bowing  to  Ca- 
mille, gave  his  hand  to  assist  her  to  rise.  He  was  then 
under  the  necessity,  as  soon  as  Camille  was  again  on 
her  feet,  of  getting  up  a  new  whirlwind  of  passion, 
and  renewing  his  pursuit  in  order  to  assassinate  her 
behind  the  scenes.  Tragedy  thus  became  comedy, 
and  the  audience  that  probably  would  have  applauded 
an  undesigned,  therefore  allowable,  transgression  of 
the  rules  of  the  French  drama,  laughed  heartily  at 
the  incident.  Bembourg  had  to  decide,  on  the  instant, 
between  seeming  atrocity  and  obvious  absurdity,  and 
opinions  differed  as  to  the  judiciousness  of  his  choice. 
It  afforded  a  theme  for  conversation  in  the  salons^  and 
gave  rise  to  much  vivacious  discussion.  Bembourg 
was  a  striking  example  of  the  truth  of  the  maxim, 


ADfllENNE  LE  COUVREUk.  59 

"  Though  one  cannot  strike  truly,  he  may  succeed  by 
striking  violently." 

Some  months  before  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
repose  on  his  laurels  and  enjoy  his  theatrical  pension, 
Mdlle.  Adrienne  Le  Couvreur  appeared  at  the  Theatre 
Fran9ais,  making  a  brilliant  dibut  as  Monime  in  the 
"  Mithridate"  of  Racine.  The  Salle  was  crowded  in 
every  part,  for  she  came  to  Paris  with  a  great  pro- 
vincial reputation.  After  this  performance  it  was 
generally  allowed,  even  by  the  critics  of  the  parterre^ 
that  fame  had  rather  under-  than  over-stated  the 
merits  of  this  great  actress;  and  her  subsequent  ap- 
pearances confirmed  this  decision. 

Her  voice  was  full  and  melodious;  her  delivery  per- 
fect. To  many  of  the  audience  Corneille  and  Racine 
even  appeared  new,  and  the  beauty  of  their  language 
revealed  for  the  first  time;  so  naturally  yet  so  forcibly 
were  the  words  uttered  which  hitherto  had  been 
monotonously  chanted,  shrieked,  or  declaimed.  Few 
actresses  have  approached  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur  in  the 
difficult  art  of  listening.  Her  expressive  countenance 
displaying,  as  the  speaker  addressed  her,  the  varying 
emotions  of  her  mind  with  remarkable  distinctness. 

She  was  slight  in  figure,  and  rather  above  the  mid- 
dle height.  Her  eyes  were  dark  and  brilliant,  and  her 
face  more  remarkable  for  g^eat  intelligence  and  ex- 
pressiveness than  regular  beauty  of  feature.  Her 
gestures  were  graceful,  and  an  idea  may  be  formed  of 
the  dignity  of  her  acting  from  the  words  of  La  Motte, 
who,  on  entering  the  salon  of  Mdlle.  de  Lambert  after 
having  witnessed  the  play  of  "  Le  Comte  d'Essex," 
Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur  being  Elizabeth,  exclaimed  with 
enthusiasm,  "  I  have  seen  to-night  a  queen  among  the 
actors."      As  Phedre  and  Cornelie,   those  who  have 


6o  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

most  studied  the  annals  of  the  stage  believe  that  her 
representation  of  those  characters  still  remains  unsur- 
passed. 

At  that  time  the  dramatis  personce  of  the  classical 
plays  of  Corneille  and  Racine  wore  paniers,  powder, 
and  patches,  and  the  full  court  costume  of  the  French 
nobility,  which  scarcely  had  changed  since  the  days 
of  Henri  IV.  Nearly  half  the  stage  was  occupied  by 
privileged  spectators,  who  sat  on  benches  or  strutted 
about  at  their  will,  and  appeared  to  have  some  part 
assigned  them  in  the  performance.  The  buzzing  con- 
versation they  kept  up,  their  coming  and  going  and 
changing  of  places,  were  serious  distractions  and 
drawbacks;  to  which  was  added  the  semi-darkness  of 
the  tallow-candle-lighted  Salle.  An  actor  or  actress 
must  have  had  wonderful  talent  to  hold  captive,  in 
spite  of  them,  the  attention  of  an  audience  disposed, 
before  all  things,  to  be  critical.  This,  Mdlle.  Le  Cou- 
vreur  appears  to  have  been  equal  to.  She  had  also 
the  good  fortune,  soon  after  the  retirement  of  Bem- 
bourg,  to  derive  both  artistic  support  and  instruction 
from  the  return  of  Michel  Baron  to  the  stage. 

Twenty-nine  years  had  elapsed  since  his  retreat. 
Old  playgoers  who  remembered  him  in  those  days  of 
his  prime,  deplored  his  decision  to  risk  the  great  repu- 
tation he  had  retired  with  by  reappearing  in  his  old 
age,  and  before  an  audience  that  knew  him  only  by 
the  records  of  former  triumphs.  But  Baron  was  ex- 
tremely sensitive  on  the  subject  of  age.  No  faded 
belle  could  be  more  so.  He  would  have  quarrelled 
with  his  best  and  dearest  friend,  should  he  have  ven- 
tured to  suggest  age  as  an  obstacle  to  his  purpose. 
He  had  also  the  most  exalted  idea  of  his  own  talents, 
fortunately  with  good  reason.     "  Every  century,"  he 


A    SECOND    TKiUMPUANI'  DEBUT.  6 1 

said,  "  could  produce  a  Caesar,  but  it  had  taken  twenty 
centuries  to  produce  a  Baron.  For,  since  the  time  of 
Roscius,  he  knew  but  of  one — himself." 

Baron  chose  Cinna  for  his  second  debut.  Fifty  years 
before,  he  had  taken  the  town  by  storm  in  the  same 
character.  The  announcement  of  his  reappearance  in 
it  was  received  with  enthusiasm.  The  regent  was 
present,  and  every  nook  and  corner  of  the  Salle  whence 
a  glimpse  of  the  actor  could  be  obtained,  or  the  sound 
of  his  voice  heard,  had  its  occupant.  The  French  are 
rarely  very  noisily  demonstrative  in  the  expression  of 
their  approval  at  the  theatre,  when  listening  to  the 
masterpieces  of  their  great  dramatists.  And  rapt 
attention  is  certainly  a  far  greater  compliment  to  an 
actor  than  the  vulgar  uproar  by  which  the  frequenters 
of  English  theatres  are  wont  to  express  their  satisfac- 
tion; having  probably  not  listened  to  a  line  of  the 
speech  that  seems  so  much  to  delight  them,  and  not 
always  being  capable  of  feeling  either  its  beauties  or 
defects,  if  they  have. 

Eagerly,  then,  but  in  breathless  expectation,  did  the 
vast  audience  await  the  re-entrance  on  the  scene  of 
the  veteran  actor  of  near  threescore  and  ten.  He 
came.  It  may  be  said  that  he  came,  saw,  and  con- 
quered. For  there  was  a  murmur  when  he  appeared 
that  denoted  both  approval  and  astonishment,  besides 
a  prodigious  fluttering  of  fans  amongst  the  ladies. 
Ladies  of  every  shade  of  philosophy  and  morality, 
those  who  remembered  the  Baron  of  days  of  yore  and 
dared  to  confess  it,  as  well  as  those  who  did  not; 
ladies  of  the  old  court,  of  the  new  court,  of  the  haute 
bourgeoisie^  and  even  of  th^  petite  (these  last,  common- 
place people  who  had  the  effrontery  to  appear  there 
with  their  husbands).     However,  all  thought  the  occa- 


62  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

sion  one  of  sufficient  importance  to  be  graced  by  their 
presence. 

"Why  !  he  is  the  handsomest  cavalier  in  the  world!" 
exclaims  the  Duchesse  de  Berri  to  Madame  de  Caylus, 
as  she  peeps  out  of  her  grated  box.  For  Baron,  with 
firmness  of  gait,  and  erect  as  a  man  in  the  very  sum- 
mer of  life,  presents  himself,  as  of  old,  with  a  dignity 
of  bearing  that  even  the  Grand  Monarque  at  the  height 
of  his  glory  might  have  envied. 

Baron  was  not  only  the  greatest  comedian  of  his 
time  (playing  tragedy  and  the  higher  range  of  comedy 
equally  well),  but  he  was  considered  the  handsomest 
man  of  his  day,  and  probably  none  surpassed  him  in 
vanity.  Contrary  to  the  custom  of  the  period,  his 
habits  were  regular  and  abstemious,  by  which  means 
he  retained  the  vigor  of  an  excellent  constitution,  and 
his  personal  advantages  unimpaired,  to  an  unusually 
late  period  of  life.  His  fine  figure,  grand  manners, 
and  extremely  handsome  face,  of  course  had  some  in- 
fluence in  securing  the  favor  of  the  ladies.  But  usually 
he  was  haughty  and  overbearing  towards  his  own  sex, 
who  tolerated  him  only  on  account  of  his  immense 
talent,  which  all  felt  compelled  to  acknowledge.  This 
talent  he  evidently  still  possessed,  and  without  any 
apparent  diminution  of  the  physical  qualities  that  gave 
added  interest  to  the  expression  of  it.  He  passed 
through  the  ordeal  of  representing  the  haughty  Cinna 
with  an  eclat  worthy  of  the  great  reputation  acquired 
in  his  younger  days;  proving  his  right  still  to  claim 
the  appellation  of  "the  first  Baron  of  France."  Baron 
and  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur,  together,  were  irresistible, 
and  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  flourished. 

The  real  motive  of  Baron's  return  to  the  stage  was 
his  extraordinary  enthusiasm  for  his  art.     The  exag- 


THE  HIGH  PRIEST  ''ATHALIEr  63 

geration  and  ranting  of  Bembourg  drove  him  frantic, 
and  to  his  evil  example  he  attributed  in  a  great  degree 
the  decadence  he  perceived  in  the  style  of  French  act- 
ing. As  soon,  therefore,  as  Bembourg  retired.  Baron 
resolved  to  afford  the  younger  comedians  the  benefit 
of  his  experience  and  example.  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur, 
who  at  one  time  seemed  likely  to  drop  into  the  monot- 
onous sing-song  she  so  continually  heard  around  her, 
was  saved  from  it  by  Baron's  warnings  and  instruc- 
tions. Mdlle.  Duclos,  no  longer  young,  had  fallen  too 
irretrievably  into  this  vicious  habit  to  reform  her  style 
thoroughly,  but  she  was  improved  by  continual  re- 
minders. Mdlle.  Belmond,  and  other  young  actresses 
and  actors  of  the  troop,  were  similarly  indebted  to 
Baron. 

In  the  High  Priest  in  "  Athalie  "  he  is  said  to  have 
been  perfectly  sublime — "As  sublime  in  his  acting," 
says  a  French  writer,  "as  Racine  in  his  verses."  "  He 
never  declaimed  tragedy;  he  spoke  it,  and  was  tender 
or  passionate,  according  to  the  character  he  assumed. 
His  voice  was  sonorous,  just,  and  flexible;  his  tones 
energetic  and  varied.  His  silence,  his  looks;  the  vary- 
ing expression  of  his  countenance,  revealing  the 
changing  emotions  of  the  mind;  his  attitudes,  his  ges- 
tures— sparingly  employed,  yet  with  perfect  art — com- 
pleting the  unfailing  effect  of  an  utterance  inspired  by 
the  sensations  of  nature.  He  proved  that  talent,  such 
as  his,  knew  no  limits,  and  was  unaffected  by  age. 

As  when  he  retired  from  the  stage,  so  when  he 
returned,  the  motive  assigned  for  it  was  not  generally 
accepted  as  the  true  one.  But  it  was  well  known  that 
he  was  not  needy.  He  was  in  receipt  of  two  pensions, 
and  possessed  private  property.  He  had  been  very 
liberally  paid  during  his  retreat  for  teaching  princes 


64  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

and  princesses  to  act,  and  for  superintending  their 
performances  at  the  theatre  of  the  palace  of  Versailles. 
He  always  went  to  and  from  the  Theatre  Fran9ais  in 
his  own  carriage.  On  one  occasion  his  coachman  and 
servants  quarrelled  and  fought  with  those  of  the  Prince 
de  Conti — such  brawls  were  frequent  amongst  the 
coachmen  and  lackeys  of  those  days.  Baron's  servants 
appear  to  have  been  as  arrogant  as  their  master,  and 
having  had  the  worst  of  this  encounter,  complained  to 
him  loudly  of  their  opponents.  Happening  to  meet 
the  prince  in  the  theatre,  Baron  mentioned  the  occur- 
rence. And  using  the  term  "  Your  people  and  mine," 
requested  him  to  reprimand  his  servants. 

The  prince,  one  of  the  regent's  roues,  thought  this 
unpardonable  familiarity.  He  replied,  "  But,  my  poor 
Boyron,  what  do  you  want  me  to  say  ?  And  how  the 
devil  did  you  take  it  into  your  head  to  have  *  people '  ?" 
The  amour  propre  of  the  actor  must  have  been  very 
severely  wounded,  no  less  at  being  tutoye  even  by  a 
prince,  than  addressed  as  "  my  poor  Boyron."  Boyron 
was  the  original  name  of  his  family,  but  his  father, 
also  an  actor,  and  accustomed  to  play  in  the  theatrical 
entertainments  of  the  court  of  Louis  XIII.,  was  fre- 
quently spoken  to  by  the  king,  who  always  called  him 
Baron.  This  name  he  assumed,  his  son  and  other 
members  of  his  family  continued  to  write  themselves 
Baron;  and  it  was  sometimes  said  in  jest  that  the 
elder  Michel  Baron  had  been  ennobled  by  Louis  XIII. 
He  was  a  tolerably  good  actor,  but  the  real  talent  of 
this  theatrical  family  centred  wholly  in  Michel  Baron, 
his  son.  He  made  the  name  illustrious  in  histrionic 
annals,  and  thus  secured  to  all  who  bore  it  a  certain 
degree  of  favor  and  tolerance,  even  when  evincing  but 
very  mediocre  abilities. 


A.V  ACT/BESS'S  DINNERS  AND   SUPPERS.       6$ 

Baron  was  often  well  received  in  aristocratic  circles. 
He  could  entirely  throw  off  the  comedian  and  be 
witty  and  agreeable.  But  if  he  felt  that  he  was  pat- 
ronized and  not  welcomed  as  a  man  of  the  great  world, 
he  could  assume  an  air  that  greatly  disconcerted  his 
would-be  patron.  He  probably  took  ample  revenge 
on  the  supercilious  Prince  de  Conti,  if  there  is  truth 
in  the  anecdote.  Anecdotes  of  Baron  are  numerous. 
His  great  presence  of  mind  was  often  very  serviceable 
to  him  on  the  stage — for  envy  frequently  sought 
means  of  embarrassing  him,  which  it  was  not  at  all 
easy  to  do.  His  intimacy  with  La  Motte-Houdart, 
whose  four  tragedies  owed  their  success  to  Baron's 
impersonation  of  the  principal  characters,  opened  to 
him  the  saion  of  Madame  de  Lambert. 

In  that  salon  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur  also,  as  we  learn 
incidentally  from  her  letters,  was  sometimes  a  guest. 
It  may  be  inferred  from  it  that  the  "  saion  trh  respecta- 
ble' was  a  less  straitlaced  assembly  than  might  have 
been  supposed.  Either  from  a  friendly  interest  in  her, 
or  possibly  from  mere  curiosity,  as  she  had  a  great 
reputation  for  wit,  Adrienne  was  much  sought  after  in 
society,  by  the  ladies  no  less  than  the  gentlemen.  She 
herself  gave  dinners  and  suppers,  and  duchesses  went 
to  partake  of  them.  She  was  the  fashion,  and  she  and 
her  guests  were  neither  better  nor  worse  than  the  age 
they  lived  in.  It  is  probable  that  the  society  of  that 
period  was  not  more  dissolute  than  when,  in  the  pre- 
ceding century,  it  was  indispensable  that  every  lady 
should  have  her  ^^  galant  et  honnete  homme,"'  and  a  train 
of  adorers  under  the  name  of  ^^  amants  inoffensifs^ 

Referring  to  the  invitations  she  receives,  Mdlle.  Le 
Couvreur  remarks:  "If,  from  indisposition  or  other 
unavoidable  cause,  I  fail  to  meet  a  party  of  ladies, 


^  THE   OLD  R£.GIME, 

probably,  all  of  them  unknown  to  me,  '  You  per- 
ceive,' one  says,  *  she  affected  the  merveilletise'  *  Ah,' 
remarks  another,  '  'tis  because  we  have  no  titles — 
our  husbands  hold  no  appointments  at  court'  If  I 
do  go  among  them,"  she  continues,  "  and  happen  to 
be  serious — one  cannot  always  be  lively  with  a  num- 
ber of  people  one  has  never  set  eyes  on  before — they 
whisper  among  themselves,  raise  their  eyebrows, 
shrug  their  shoulders,  '  This,  then,  is  the  young 
person  who  they  say  is  so  witty? '  asks  one.  '  Remark 
how  disdainful  she  is.  You  cannot  please  her,'  says 
another,  '  unless  you  know  Latin  and  Greek.  She  is 
one  of  Madame  de  Lambert's  set.' "  And  thus  Mdlle. 
Adrienne  found  it  difficult  to  satisfy  the  people  who 
were  so  anxious  to  make  a  lioness  of  her. 

She  succeeded  better  perhaps  with  the  gentlemen 
than  with  the  ladies.  Voltaire,  amongst  others,  threw 
himself  at  her  feet,  as  he  had  a  habit  of  doing  to  wo- 
men he  cared  to  pay  court  to.  She  played  the  hero- 
ines of  his  earlier  tragedies,  and  studied  her  parts 
under  his  direction.  Adrienne  Le  Couvreur  was 
really  a  good,  kind  creature;  giving  all  her  spare  cash 
to  one  admirer,  selling  her  diamonds  to  supply  the 
needs  of  another,  and  proving  her  friendship  for  Vol- 
taire by  courageously  nursing  him  through  the  small- 
pox— a  disease  attended  in  his  case  with  the  usual 
disfigurement.  Before  that  misfortune,  Voltaire  is 
said  to  have  been  fairly  good-looking.  To  beguile 
the  weary  hours  of  a  slow  convalescence,  Adrienne  was 
accustomed  to  sit  by  his  couch  and  read  for  his 
amusement  the  "Arabian  Nights."* 

*  M.  Galland,  the  French  translator  of  the  "  Contes  Arabes," 
then  in  everybody's  hands,  had  lately  died  in  Paris.     He  was  well 


CALLAND'S  "ARABIAN  NIGHTS^  6/ 

known  as  an  Oriental  scholar,  and  much  esteemed  in  literary 
society.  Shortly  before  his  death  a  party  of  young  men,  return- 
ing home  in  a  rather  hilarious  mood  from  a  supper,  stopped,  with 
their  lantern-bearers,  before  M.  Galland's  house  in  the  Rue  Dau- 
phine.  Terrible  deeds  were  of  nightly  occurrence  in  the  streets  of 
Paris  in  those  good  old  times;  and  the  loud  knocking  at  the  door, 
and  the  calling  for  M.  Galland  on  a  cold,  dark,  wintry  night 
greatly  alarmed  the  household.  His  servant  at  last  cautiously 
opened  a  window,  and  inquired  the  meaning  of  this  disturbance, 
and  who  the  nocturnal  rioters  were.  They  want  M.  Galland,  they 
tell  him.  Presently  Galland  appears  at  the  window  in  nightcap 
and  dressing-gown.  "Well,  gentlemen,  what  do  you  want?"  he 
inquires  o£  these  noisy  visitors.  Parodying  the  phrase  with  which 
he  begins  each  of  the  thousand  and  one  chapters  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights,"  they  reply,  **  M.  Galland,  if  you  are  not  asleep,  tell  us 
some  of  those  stories  you  know."  M.  Galland's  window  is  im- 
mediately closed  with  a  bang,  and  the  young  men,  having  had 
their  foolish  joke  out,  reassemble  their  lantern-bearers  and  depart. 
The  misfortune  was  that  M.  Galland  was  not  very  well,  and  the 
chill  he  got  by  being  roused  from  his  bed  on  a  cold  January 
night,  if  it  did  not  actually  cause  his  death,  was  supposed  to  have 
hastened  it,  as  he  died  very  soon  after,  probably  a  victim  to  the 
fame  of  his  book. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Racine's  Academic  Address. — A  Political  Intrigante. — The  Span- 
ish Plot. — Arrest  of  La  Duchesse  du  Maine. — Confessions 
and  Apologies. — A  Traitor  in  the  Camp. — A  General  Lover. 
— The  Eye's  Eloquence. — A  Persevering  Lover. — Results  of 
Gallantry. — La  Duchesse  de  Richelieu. — The  Due  de  Modena. 
— A  Desponding  Bride. — A  Heartless  Lover. — A  Learned 
Academician. — A  Noble  Badaud. 

There  is  perhaps  no  period  of  French  history  of 
which  it  is  more  difficult  to  give,  in  a  very  succinct 
form,  a  clear  idea  of  the  general  state  of  society,  than 
that  of  the  regency  of  Philippe,  Due  d'Orleans.  It 
was  a  period  crowded  with  incidents,  various  as 
numerous.  It  was  the  awakening  from  torpor  and 
gloom  to  a  life  of  unrestrained  gayety,  folly,  and  vice, 
and  the  re-establishing  of  society  under  new  forms. 
Political  intrigue  then  found  a  home  in  the  salons, 
whence  it  had  been  banished  since  the  time  of  the 
Fronde,  but  where  now  the  philosophic  spirit  began 
also  to  develop  itself.  Montesquieu  had  published 
his  witty  satire,  the  "  Lettres  Persanes;"  and  the 
influence  of  Voltaire's  sarcastic  pen  was  beginning 
to  be  felt.  Literature,  which  under  Louis  XIV.  con- 
fined itself  chiefly  to  gathering  laurels  in  the  fields 
of  poesy  and  the  drama,  now  ventured  on  assailing 
the  government. 

When  Racine  was  installed  in  his  academic  arm- 
chair, he  told  his  learned  brethren,  in  his  discourse  on 
that  occasion,  that  their  greatest  incentive  to  diligent 


A  POUTJCAL  WTRtGANTE.  69 

continuance  of  their  efforts  to  perfect  the  French  lan- 
guage should  be  to  make  it  more  and  more  worthy  to 
celebrate  the  praises  of  Louis  XIV.  One  is  pained  to 
know  that  so  great  a  genius  could  thus  servilely  abase 
himself,  and  that  he  could  suggest  no  worthier  theme 
for  a.  language  he  had  so  nobly  and  eloquently  other- 
wise employed.  Voltaire  might  well  say,  "  Racine  was 
more  poet  than  philosopher." 

The  philosophers  of  the  new  republic  of  letters  took 
a  far  different  view  of  the  subjects  best  suited  for  the 
display  of  French  eloquence,  as  well  as  of  their  own 
position  in  the  social  scale.  They  no  longer  cared  to 
seek  the  patronage  of  the  fashionable  world.  Rather 
they  stood  aloof,  and  held  reunions  amongst  them- 
selves, claiming,  as  savants  and  philosophers,  to  be 
received  as  a  distinguished  section  of  society.  Such 
consideration  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  been  already 
accorded  to  Voltaire;  but  by  audacity,  tact,  and  talent 
he  had  conquered  it  for  himself.  Many  prejudices  had 
yet  to  be  overcome  before  rank  and  wealth  could  re- 
ceive literary  distinction  as  its  equal.  But  the  barriers 
fell  by  degrees  before  the  teachers  of  new  doctrines, 
and  the  spread  of  new  opinions — destined  by  and  by 
entirely  to  overturn  the  old  organization  of  things. 

Chief  among  female  political  intrigantes  of  this 
period  was  the  Duchesse  du  Maine.  That  she,  a  prin- 
cess of  the  blood,  should  have  wedded  a  man  contented 
to  sit  quietly  down  to  his  studies,  and  to  the  collecting 
of  objects  of  art  under  the  stigma  of  degraded  rank, 
was  a  burning  thought  to  this  high-souled  little 
woman.  The  receptions  at  Sceaux;  the  private  the- 
atricals, in  which  she  figured  with  so  much  eclat;  the 
madrigals  addressed  to  her,  sung  or  recited  in  her 
honor — all  were  now  powerless  to  charm.     Her  salon 


;tO  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

in  Paris  became  the  resort  of  all  who  thought  they 
had  cause  to  complain  of  the  government  of  the  re- 
gency. The  disaffected  formed  a  numerous  party,  and 
to  further  their  own  views  lent  their  aid  to  the  further- 
ance of  the  scheme  of  the  duchess.  The  result  was  the 
so-called  Spanish  plot.  Its  object  was  to  induce  Philip 
V.  to  invade  France,  to  secure,  if  possible,  the  person 
of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  to  claim  the  regency  of  the  king- 
dom himself,  and  of  course  reinstate  the  duchess  in  all 
those  rights  and  privileges  of  royal  rank  she  had  been 
deprived  of. 

Great  pains  were  taken  to  conceal  this  stratagem 
from  the  duke;  and  as  his  attention  was  absorbed  by 
literary  pursuits,  and  love  of  retirement  often  took  him 
from  Paris  to  Sceaux,  it  was  not  difficult  to  do  so. 
The  scheme  was  well  on  its  way  towards  realization. 
The  Spanish  ambassador.  Prince  de  Cellamare,  and 
Philip's  first  minister.  Cardinal  Alberoni,  were  deeply 
engaged  in  it.  Philip  himself,  more  frequently  mad 
than  sane,  liked  the  idea  of  being  regent  of  that  France 
he  loved  so  much.  In  his  fits  of  despondency  he  re- 
garded himself  as  a  usurper  of  the  Spanish  throne, 
lamented  his  expatriation,  often  determined  to  abdi- 
cate, and  always  cherished  the  hope  of  revisiting 
France. 

But  if  the  Due  du  Maine's  eyes  were  sealed,  other 
and  more  vigilant  ones  were  open.  Espionage  was  the 
rule  of  the  French  Government.  It  was  the  only  duty 
the  police  executed  with  regularity  and  perseverance. 
Le  Comte  d'Argenson  (to  whom  the  sobriquet  of  "Z^ 
Damne''  was  given,  because  of  his  repulsive  counte- 
nance) had  for  nineteen  years  been  at  the  head  of  the 
department,  and  had  trained  his  secret  agents  to  an 
extraordinary  degree  of  perfection.     The  eyes  of  H6- 


CONFESSIONS  AND  APOLOGIES.  71 

rault,  his  successor,  had  been  for  some  time  on  the 
duchess.  Part  of  her  secret  had  transpired  in  the  salon 
of  Madame  de  Tencin,  an  intrigante  also,  and  amie  in- 
time  of  Dubois — no  longer  Abb6,  but,  to  the  disgrace 
of  the  regent,  elevated  to  the  Archbishopric  of  Cam- 
brai,  and  now  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs.  The  un- 
usual stir  at  the  Embassy,  occasioned  by  the  despatch- 
ing of  emissaries  to  the  Spanish  Court,  was  also 
remarked  by  the  vigilant  lieutenant  of  police.  A 
seizure  of  papers  took  place,  and  one  of  the  messen- 
gers was  stopped  at  Poitiers.  On  the  29th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1718,  the  duchess,  to  her  dismay,  was  arrested  in 
Paris,  and  conveyed  to  the  citadel  of  Dijon.  The  duke 
was  found  very  harmlessly  occupied  in  his  study  at 
Sceaux,  but  was  sent  to  the  Chateau  de  Dourlens. 
Mdlle.  Delaunay  shared  the  prison  of  the  duchess,  and 
several  other  members  of  the  duke's  household,  as  well 
as  some  military  partisans  of  Spain,  were  confined  in 
the  Bastille. 

This  ''^abominable  conspiration'* — thus  it  was  pro- 
claimed throughout  the  land — ended  in  "  confessions 
and  apologies"  on  the  part  of  the  duchess,  who,  after 
two  years'  imprisonment,  was  allowed  to  return  to 
Sceaux.  It  was  vainly  sought  to  inculpate  the  duke, 
much  as  the  regent  and  M.  le  Due  desired  it.  The  lat- 
ter especially  is  said  to  have  felt  towards  him  "  an  an- 
tipathy like  that  which  some  persons  have  for  certain 
reptiles  or  species  of  vermin."  Against  their  will,  then, 
he  also  was  liberated,  and  without  any  restriction  as 
to  his  place  of  residence.  But  he  refused  to  join  the 
duchess  at  Sceaux;  resenting,  as  much  as  it  was  in  his 
apathetic  nature  to  resent,  the  two  years'  imprison- 
ment to  which  her  schemes  had  subjected  him. 

But  the  little  duchess  on  this  point  would  not  give 


*J±  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

way;  though  the  duke  held  out  for  some  time  against 
both  her  commands  and  entreaties.  He  had,  however, 
been  accustomed  to  obey;  and  as  she  had  resolved  on 
having  him  back  at  Sceaux,  which  was  his  favorite 
retreat,  he  at  last  yielded  to  her  wishes  and  returned. 
She  also  succeeded  in  making  her  peace  with  the  re- 
gent, who  good-naturedly  assured  her  that  he  would 
forget  altogether  what  had  passed. 

There  yet  remained,  however,  one  culprit  in  the  Bas- 
tille— one  who  had  been  so  deeply  and  treasonably 
concerned  in  this  terrible  plot  that  the  regent  declared 
he  must  lose  his  head.  "  He  has  done  enough,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "to  forfeit  four  heads  if  he  had  them!" 

"  Four  of  the  handsomest  heads  in  France  have  not 
the  beauty  of  his  one!"  was  the  energetic  reply.  Surely 
such  nonsense  could  have  been  uttered  only  by  a  very 
young  lady. 

But  the  regent  was  by  no  means  moved  by  it  to  pity. 
"  Handsome  or  not,"  he  said,  "  it  is  owned  by  a  worth- 
less person — a  disturber  of  the  peace  of  the  kingdom, 
and  a  traitor  to  his  country."  If  he  had  added,  "  He 
has  supplanted  me  in  the  good  graces  of  several  of  the 
ladies  of  the  court,"  he  would  have  revealed  what 
stung  him  to  the  quick  in  this  gentleman's  behavior 
quite  as  much  as  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the  Spanish 
affair.  It  was,  however,  no  less  an  affair  of  treason 
than  the  having  promised  Cardinal  Alberoni  to  deliver 
Bayonne,  where  this  officer's  regiment  was  in  garrison, 
into  the  hands  of  the  Spanish  troops,  should  Philip 
determine  to  invade  France. 

This  handsome  cavalier,  now  in  the  Bastille  for  the 
third  time,  was  no  other  than  the  young  Due  de  Riche- 
lieu. He  is  said  to  have  joined  the  duchess's  party 
from  annoyance  that  no  influential  post  in  the  govern- 


A  G^NEkAL  LOVEk.  73 

ment  had  yet  been  given  to  him.  But  the  regent  dis- 
liked him,  and  Richelieu  took  his  revenge  by  making 
a  point  of  stepping  in  between  him  and  his  mistresses. 
He  had  not  the  power  of  conferring  titles  upon  them 
and  extensive  estates,  or  of  making  over  to  their  use 
certain  items  of  the  taxes;  but  he  had  the  advantage 
of  being  but  twenty-three,  while  the  regent  was  forty- 
six.  He  was  exceedingly  handsome,  too,  and  very 
seductive,  but  perfectly  heartless  and  thoroughly  un- 
principled. He  squandered  his  income  freely  enough, 
and,  though  without  a  particle  of  feeling,  he  could  as- 
sume with  success  the  rdUoi  the  despairing,  passionate 
lover. 

He  had  succeeded  not  long  before  in  gaining,  clan- 
destinely, of  course,  the  affections  of  Mdlle.  de  Charo- 
lais,  sister  of  Monsieur  le  Due;  and  his  conquests  in 
the  royal  houses  he  greatly  piqued  himself  upon.  She 
was  very  young  and  exceedingly  pretty.  Her  eyes 
were  beautiful,  and  so  remarkably  lustrous  that  she 
was  recognized  by  them  when  wearing  a  mask.  Mdlle. 
de  Valois,  one  of  the  regent's  daughters,  a  very  hand- 
some girl,  had  also  attracted  him  greatly,  when  she 
made  her  debut  at  a  court  ball  given  to  celebrate  the 
visit  to  Paris  of  the  Duchesse  de  Lorraine.  The  young 
duke  was  almost  in  love  with  her;  he  decidedly  ad- 
mired her,  and  determined  she  should  know  it.  It  was 
difficult.  But  that  gave  zest  and  piquancy  to  his  pur- 
pose. It  had  been  difficult  to  make  Mdlle.  de  Charo- 
lais  understand  that  her  smile  or  frown  was  life  or 
death  to  him.  He  was  an  adept  in  that  "  eloquence, 
twin-born  of  thought,"  the  eloquent  language  of  the 
eyes.  But  so  was  the  keen-sighted  Madame  de  Prie, 
the  "  amie  inttme**  as  it  was  customary  to  say,  of  M.  le 
Due;  and  any  openly  displayed  attentions  to   Mdlle. 


74  ^^^  OLD  REGIME. 

de  Charolais  would  have  been  very  unceremoniously 
resented  by  her  brother. 

But  Richelieu  had  evaded  suspicion,  and  won  the 
young  princess's  heart.  He  has  now  a  new  conquest 
to  achieve,  many  obstacles  to  overcome.  Mdlle.  de 
Valois  has  elderly  and  careful  attendants,  and  appears 
to  be  vigilantly  guarded.  From  this  circumstance,  it 
may  be  observed,  in  passing,  one  is  willing  to  believe 
that  the  conduct  and  character  of  the  regent's  daugh- 
ters have  usually  been  described  with  much  exaggera- 
tion. Mere  folly,  doubtless,  has  frequently  been  mag- 
nified into  vice,  owing  to  the  unfortunate  mania  that 
prevailed  in  the  court  of  the  regent,  and  far  beyond 
that  circle,  of  assuming  an  air  of  reckless  depravity  as 
a  protest  against  the  hypocritical  piety  of  the  old  court 
of  Versailles. 

But  to  return  to  Richelieu.  To  accomplish  his  ob- 
ject, he  had  to  bribe,  to  persuade,  to  make  love  to 
serving-women;  to  assume  numerous  disguises;  to 
write,  or  to  get  written,  love-letters — tender,  implor- 
ing, passionate,  despairing — and  to  tax  his  poor  brain 
to  invent  methods  for  their  safe  delivery  to  the  prin- 
cess. At  every  court  fete,  ball,  or  concert,  the  Due  de 
Richelieu  was  sure  to  be  present;  but  not  always 
Mdlle.  de  Valois.  Though  she  now  comprehended 
that  the  perfumed  notes  which  reached  her  hands  hid- 
den in  roses  or  other  flowers — so  frequently  lying  on 
her  writing-desk,  her  embroidery-frame,  or  toilet-table, 
and  placed  there  she  knew  not  how — were  missives 
from  the  handsome  young  duke,  whose  despairing, 
languishing  gaze  she  so  often  encountered,  and  re- 
plied to  with  a  burning  blush. 

At  length  an  interview  took  place.  The  lovers  met 
in  the  apartment  of  one  of  the  officials  of  the  house- 


/RESULTS  OF  GALLANTRY.  75 

hold,  whose  services  Richelieu  had  secured.  Many 
stolen  meetings  followed;  the  duke  always  in  some 
new  disguise.  The  jealous  suspicions  of  Mdlle.  de 
Charolais,  however,  led  to  the  discovery  of  this  in- 
timacy. 

Richelieu  had  but  recently  left  the  Bastille  after  a 
three  weeks'  detention  there;  the  cause  of  his  impris- 
onment being  a  desperate  encounter  with  swords  be- 
tween him  and  the  Comte  de  Gare — at  mid-day,  in 
Paris,  in  the  Rue  St.  Thomas  du  Louvre — the  result 
of  a  violent  quarrel  concerning  an  affair  of  gallantry. 
It  happened  at  that  time  that  the  King  of  Sardinia 
made  proposals  for  the  hand  of  Mdlle.  de  Valois.  It 
was  therefore  desirable,  as  the  regent  was  willing  to 
accede  to  them,  to  hush  up  the  princess's  love  affair. 
Richelieu,  in  consequence,  escaped  another  visit  to 
the  Bastille,  but  was  ordered  to  join  his  regiment  at 
Bayonne.  Madame,  however,  in  her  correspondence 
with  the  German  courts,  related  the  incident.  It  was 
repeated,  commented  upon,  and  exaggerated,  until  the 
tale  reached  Piedmont,  and  with  all  its  additions  and 
embellishments  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Sardinian 
king,  who  forthwith  hastened  to  withdraw  his  pro- 
posal of  marriage. 

The  regent  was  naturally  much  incensed,  and  it 
being  immediately  afterwards  discovered  that  Riche- 
lieu was  implicated  in  the  Spanish  plot,  his  arrest  was 
ordered,  and  for  the  third  time  he  took  up  his  quar- 
ters in  the  Bastille.  Worse  than  that,  he  must  lay  his 
handsome  head  on  the  block — for  the  regent  has 
vowed  he  shall  lose  it. 

Mdlle.  de  Valois  is  in  despair;  she  is  devotedly 
attached  to  him.  Mdlle.  de  Charolais  the  same.  But 
who  shall  write  the  list  of  ladies,  noble  if  not  royal, 


^6  'TH^  OLD  R^GIM^. 

beautiful  if  not  noble,  who  with  sighs  and  tears  ask 
the  life  of  this  gay  Lothario?  Even  the  duchess  en- 
treats— the  wife  whose  very  existence  he  determined 
(and  has  kept  his  determination)  systematically  to 
ignore,  from  the  day,  when  but  a  boy  of  fourteen,  his 
father  injudiciously  married  him  to  her.  She  was 
Mdlle.  de  Noailles,  a  young  lady  some  few  years  his 
senior;  very  plain-faced  and  very  sedate.  She  was  to 
check  the  exuberant  spirits  of  her  wild  young  hus- 
band, who  already  gave  promise  of  becoming  the 
greatest  libertine  of  the  age.  The  bride  was  eighteen, 
petite,  and  in  appearance  younger  than  De  Fronsac 
(his  title  at  that  time).  He  was  tall  for  his  age,  well 
grown  and  handsome.  He  had  probably  forgotten  his 
wife's  existence  when  she  visited  him  in  the  Bastille, 
eight  years  after  their  marriage.  No  other  lady  was 
allowed  to  see  him;  all  applicants  for  that  favor 
were  sternly  refused.  She,  however,  came  as  a  sur- 
prise upon  him;  her  folly  in  displaying  so  much  inter- 
est in  his  fate  diverting  him  greatly. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  the  regent  could,  with  im- 
punity, have  sent  this  great  lord  to  the  scaffold.  More 
likely  a  lett^-e- de-cachet  would  have  banished  him  to  his 
estates.  But  fortune  again  smiled  upon  him.  Mdlle. 
de  Valois  continued  to  weep  and  lament,  and  on  her 
knees  to  implore  her  father  to  pardon  and  release  her 
lover.  The  regent  was  annoyed  at  this  importunity, 
and  angrily  desired  her  to  desist.  But  another  suitor 
soon  appeared  on  the  scene,  the  Due  de  Modena,  who 
had  sent  a  special  envoy  to  ask  Mdlle.  de  Valois  in 
marriage.  Of  this  the  regent  took  advantage.  He 
was  anxious  to  marry  this  daughter,  and  having 
missed  the  queenly  diadem,  he  resolved  that  she 
should  wear  the  ducal  one.     The  duke  having  sent 


A   DESPONDING  BRIDE.  77 

his  portrait — which,  though  probably  flattered,  was 
by  no  means  attractive — the  regent  presented  it  to  the 
lady.  She  refused  to  look  at  it,  or  to  hear  the  word 
marriage  mentioned.  The  regent  calmly  replied  that 
the  pardon  and  immediate  release  of  Richelieu  de- 
pended on  her  promise  to  accept  the  Due  de  Modena. 

She  caught  at  the  words,  "to  save  her  lover's  life 
she  would  gladly  give  her  own.  She  would  make 
even  a  greater  sacrifice,  she  would  marry  the  duke." 
Instantly  she  gave  her  promise;  exacted  her  father's; 
turned  her  eyes  on  ^he  frowning  brow  of  the  portrait, 
and  swooned. 

The  regent,  in  this  instance,  faithfully  kept  his 
word;  for  Richelieu  was  walking  about  Paris  the  next 
evening.  Some  few  days  after,  the  ceremony  of  the 
marriage,  by  proxy,  took  place  at  the  Palais  Royal. 
The  regent  was  anxious  to  conclude  the  arrangements, 
the  bride  being  in  a  very  desponding  state  of  mind. 
The  first  feelings  of  enthusiasm  having  calmed  down, 
her  grief  became  excessive.  The  preparations  for  her 
marriage  and  departure  for  Italy  filled  her  with  terror, 
and  she  would  take  no  part  in  them. 

"On  the  day,"  says  a  contemporary  memoir,  "  that 
Mdlle.  de.  Valois  was  united  by  proxy  to  the  Due  de 
Modena,  her  appearance  was  that  of  a  victim  led  to 
the  sacrifice.  Pale,  trembling,  and  tearful,  she  excited 
the  utmost  sympathy;  while,  to  add  to  her  distress, 
prominently  placed  amongst  the  guests  stood  the  Due 
de  Richelieu."  The  regent  had  had  the  cruelty  to 
invite  him,  and  he  the  heartlessness  to  attend.  Beside 
him  was  Mdlle.  de  Charolais,  with  whom,  apparently 
unmoved,  he  occasionally  laughed  and  conversed,  both 
of  them  observing  the  bride  with  a  critical  eye. 

False  sentimentality  had  not  yet  come  into  fashion, 


78  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

and  real  emotion  was  not  easily  excited  amongst  the 
gay  company  assembled  to  witness  the  bridal  cere- 
mony. But  the  story  of  the  victim  and  her  seducer, 
though  hushed  up,  and  all  mention  of  it  carefully  sup- 
pressed, was  well  known  to  every  one  present.  Riche- 
lieu's air  of  bravado  inspired,  therefore,  general  con- 
tempt. The  Duchesse  de  Modena  and  Mdlle.  de 
Charolais  later  in  life  more  thoroughly  understood 
the  character  of  the  man  who  had  deceived  them  both, 
and  both  learned  to  despise  him.  His  triste  celebrity, 
however,  suffered  not  from  such-  passing  clouds,  but 
rather  increased  than  diminished. 

Not  long  before  this  marriage  took  place,  even 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  writing  from  St.  Cyr,  and 
referring  to  Richelieu,  calls  him  "  my  favorite."  She 
says  also,  "I  do  not  always  dislike  scapegraces;"  but 
she  adds,  "  provided  they  do  not  pass  the  bounds  of 
vice  and  dishonor."  Richelieu  had  certainly  long 
before  passed  from  the  scapegrace  state  to  that  of  vice 
and  dishonor. 

From  some  inexplicable  motive,  he  aspired  at  this 
time  to  an  academic  arm-chair,  and  in  the  course  of 
the  next  year,  being  not  yet  twenty-four,  a  vacancy 
occurring,  he  was  elected  to  fill  it,  "never  having 
written,"  says  Duclos,  "anything  but  a  few  love-let- 
ters." Through  what  powerful  female  influence  he 
obtained  that  honor  is  not  stated.  It  may  have  grati- 
fied his  vanity  to  have  a  seat  amongst  the  Forty,  but 
it  must  have  been  singular  to  hear  one  of  the  professed 
guardians  of  the  purity  of  the  French  language  talk 
like  an  illiterate  badaud  or  Parisian  cockney.  It  was 
the  fashion  to  do  so  at  the  reunions  of  the  dissolute 
young  men  of  the  regency,  and  none  had  cultivated 


A   NOBLE  BADAUD. 


79 


this  unenviable  accomplishment  more  sedulously  than 
the  Due  de  Richelieu. 

Vtuz  done  M^sieux;  v'la  quiques  Louis.  Faut  mef  fd 
dans  sa  poche;  faut  pas  V  renfermer  dans  f  secritaire^''  etc., 
is  a  specimen  given  of  his  usual  manner  of  speaking. 
But  this  is  probably  a  libel.  Sentimental  love-mak- 
ing could  never  have  thus  been  carried  on.  It  might 
have  succeeded  with  the  grisetUs,  and  been  assumed 
when  masked,  as  well  as  have  diverted  both  him  and 
his  wild  companions  to  talk  in  that  fashion  at  their 
nocturnal  revels,  nothing  more.  Yet  it  has  been 
asserted  that  Richelieu  had  so  thoroughly  contracted 
this  habit  that  he  could  never  entirely  divest  himself 
of  it — the  badaud  would  peep  out,  and  often  when  least 
desired. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Une  N6glig6e. — Louis  XV. — The  Financier's  Wife. —A  Fashion- 
able   Financier. — The  Vicomte    and  Vicomtesse  de  F .  — 

John  Law. — La  Banque  du  Roi. — The  Mississippi  Company. 
— The  Rue  Quincampoix. — Cupidity  and  Despair. — Grand 
Hotels  and  Opera  Boxes. — The  Courtiers  Pay  their  Debts. — 
The  "Regent"  and  the  "Sancy." — The  First  Blow  to  the 
Systeme. — Deceived  and  Ruined. — Law  Escapes  to  Flanders. 
— A  Change  from  Paris  to  Brussels. — Order  out  of  Disorder. 

In  a  splendidly  furnished  apartment  in  one  of  the 
hotels  of  the  Place  Vendome  sit  a  lady  and  gentle- 
man, taking  their  morning  meal — a  substantial  repast, 
less  of  a  French  than  a  Scotch  breakfast.  The  now 
fashionable  coffee-pot  is  there,  prominently  in  the 
centre  of  the  table.  The  Parisians  have  been  a  long 
time  making  up  their  minds  whether  to  accept  or  re- 
ject coffee.  But  merit  has  prevailed  over  prejudice. 
The  Vicomte  de  Bechamel,  the  regent's  7naitre  d' hotel, 
has  already  placed  on  his  menus  black  coffee,  in  small 
cups,  for  Palais  Royal  dinners.  The  ladies  have  also 
discovered  that  it  is  excellent  with  milk,  and  are  fall- 
ing into  the  habit  of  sipping  their  cup  of  coffee  in  the 
morning.  Madame  de  Sevigne,  therefore,  in  her 
double  prediction  that  both  coffee  and  the  plays  of 
Racine  were  destined  to  pass  out  of  favor  after  a  very 
short  reign,  has  proved  a  false  prophetess. 

But  the  lady  and  gentleman  have  finished  their 
breakfast.  The  lady  wears  an  elaborately  embroid- 
ered negligee  of  Indian  muslin,  with  ruffles  of  fine  lace, 


THE  FINANCIER'S    WIFE.  8 1 

the  finest  that  Valenciennes  can  produce.  It  is  looped 
up  with  rose-colored  ribands;  the  white  silk  petticoat 
has  a  broad  border  of  rose  color;  the  dress,  a  long 
flowing  sash  of  the  same;  and  the  whole  is  displayed 
over  a/(7/z/>r  of  ample  size.  She  has  a  patch  on  the 
left  cheek,  another  on  her  chin,  and  a  third  on  the 
right  temple — those  little  black  patches,  you  know, 
that  the  Duchesse  du  Maine  has  just  brought  into 
vogue  again.  There  is  a  soup^on  of  powder  in  her 
hair;  her  head-dress  is  of  fine  lace,  with  rose-colored 
silk  lappets;  her  mittens  are  lace,  and  her  high-heeled 
slippers  rose-colored  silk,  embroidered  in  white  and 
frilled  with  Valenciennes. 

The  lady  is  by  no  means  the  great  lady  one  might 
suppose  her  to  be,  though  she  is  accustomed  to  give 
herself  very  grand  airs.  Her  elegant  toilets,  luxurious 
surroundings,  her  half-dozen  chateaux,  comt6s,  and 
marquisates,  have  all  been  so  recently  showered  upon 
her,  that  she  still  is  not  perfectly  at  ease  under  them. 
To  be  borne  with  dignity,  these  things  need  "the  aid 
of  use,"  as  Shakespeare  says  of  "  our  new  clothes,  that 
cleave  not  to  their  mould  without."  Yet  her  salon  is 
frequented  by  marchionesses  and  duchesses,  and  other 
great  ladies.  Even  princesses  have  been  known  to 
waive  etiquette  and  peep  in  for  a  moment.  If  she 
does  not  exactly  look  down  on  her  high  and  mighty 
guests,  she  contrives  to  comport  herself  stiffly  enough 
towards  them.  She  has  been  made  to  feel,  and  still 
resents  it,  that  the  attraction  lies  not  in  her,  but  in  the 
wizard  powers  of  her  husband;  that  if  these  great 
ladies  visit  her  in  the  evening,  it  is  because  he  would 
not  grant  them  a  five  minutes'  interview  in  his  private 
bureau  in  the  morning,  and  that  there  is  just  a  chance 
of  whispering  a  word  in  his  ear  in  her  salon.     She  is 


82  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

to  them  but  a  solitary  cipher,  adding  nothing  what- 
ever to  the  weight  and  influence  of  the  substantial 
qualities  attributed  to  him.  Yet  her  superb  diamonds, 
laces,  and  toilet  generally  often  raise  sighs  of  envy, 
and  win  her  many  gracious  words  and  smiles. 

The  gentleman  so  courted  and  run  after  by  the 
ladies,  as  far  as  being  bewigged  and  berufiled,  and 
wearing  a  sword  at  his  side,  looks  like  a  grandee  of  the 
period.  Had  the  time  referred  to  been  but  a  century 
nearer  to  us,  one  might,  after  scrutinizing  his  coun- 
tenance, have  guessed  him  to  be  an  American  cousin. 
His  face  is  so  "  cute,"  shrewd,  and  clever;  but  less 
intellectual  than  cunning.  There  is  now  a  shade  of 
anxiety  upon  it,  which  is  remarkable,  as  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  air  of  audacity  and  perfect  self- 
possession  it  usually  wears.  The  lady,  too,  seems 
troubled  and  thoughtful,  as  she  abstractedly  opens 
and  shuts  and  twirls  her  exquisite  Watteau  fan.  One 
trembles  for  the  safety  of  those  pretty  shepherdesses, 
so  delicately  painted  on  silk,  with  their  lily  complex- 
ions, their  rosebud  mouths,  charming  Swiss  hats  and 
costumes  garlanded  with  flowers.  But  the  reverie 
is  ended  by  the  entrance  of  a  servant. 

Is  this  man  a  servant  ?  He  enters  with  a  very 
swaggering  air.  There  is  a  trace  of  servitude — that  is 
of  livery — in  his  dress,  for  he  wears  a  red  waistcoat; 
though,  for  the  rest,  he  has  donned  the  garb  of  the 
haute  bourgeoisie. 

"Monsieur,"  he  says,  "I  leave  your  service  to-day. 
That  arrangement  I  mentioned  with  the  Vicomte  de 

F is  settled,  signed,  and  sealed,  and  the  price  is 

paid  in  bank  stock  of  your  last  issue.  But  that  you 
may  not  be  inconvenienced  by  the  dearth  of  serving- 
men^  I  have  brought  here  two  who  are  willing  to  sue- 


JOHN  LAW.  83 

ceed  to  my  place.  They  wait  outside  your  good 
pleasure  to  see  them." 

"  Can  they  drive  well,  Joseph  ?"  inquires  the 
master. 

"They  can  both  drive  so  well,  monsieur,  that 
whichever  of  the  two  you  may  reject,  I  shall  take  into 
my  own  service." 

"And  Annette?"  says  the  lady  inquiringly,  referring 
to  her  waiting-maid,  who  is  the  coachman's  wife. 

"  Annette,  madame,  also  leaves  you  to-day.  She  is 
now  engaging  her  maid;  and  should  Joseph  and  An- 
nette be  wanted  to-morrow,  they  must  be  inquired  for 

at  their  hotel,  as  the  Vicomte  and  Vicomtesse  de  F , 

for  the  title  goes  with  the  estates." 

The  lady  shrugs  her  shoulders  impatiently.  The 
gentleman  cannot  forbear  a  smile.  This  transforma- 
tion of  his  coachman  into  a  vicomte  is  his  own  work, 
and  the  change  in  his  own  social  position  is  scarcely 
less  great.  But  his  influence  is  on  the  wane,  and  a 
crash  is  at  hand. 

He  is  the  famous  Scotch  banker,  John  Law,  who,  as 
Montesquieu  says,  "  turned  the  State  inside  out;"  who 
made  France,  as  it  were,  one  vast  gambling-house; 
who  demoralized  society,  by  awakening  feelings  of 
cupidity,  unknown  to  it  before  his  chimerical  system 
gave  rise  to  that  mania  for  reckless  speculation. 

"  From  the  lowest  of  the  people,"  says  Voltaire, 
"  even  to  magistrates,  bishops,  and  princes,  the  cupidity 
he  aroused  in  every  rank  diverted  every  mind  from  any 
attention  to  the  public  welfare,  from  all  politic  and 
ambitious  views,  filling  them  with  fear  of  loss  and  de- 
sire of  gain." 

Law  was  a  scheming,  calculating  man,  who  in  these 
days   would   probably   be   called  a  "  promoter;"    but 


84  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

that  modern  term  for  the  successful  getters-up  of 
bubble  projects  was  not  then  invented,  and  he  was 
regarded  as  a  clever  financier.  A  fugitive  from  Eng- 
land for  some  misdemeanor,  as  soon  as  he  had  crossed 
the  Channel  he  became  a  Roman  Catholic,  obtained 
letters  of  naturalization  and  permission  to  establish  a 
bank.  It  was  at  first  of  very  moderate  pretensions. 
But  a  flattering  prospectus  invited  depositors,  and  its 
notes  got  well  into  circulation.  The  State  was  then 
burdened  with  debt,  and  the  regent  was  at  his  wits' 
end  for  money — both  for  his  own  private  uses  and  for 
carrying  on  the  government.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 
taxed  his  brain  for  new  sources  of  income.  It  proved 
so  unprofitable  an  article  of  taxation  that  it  afforded 
him  nothing  but  the  barren  suggestion  of  giving  to 
specie  a  threefold  nominal  value.  At  this  crisis  Law 
presented  his  project  for  paying  off  the  debt  of  the 
nation.  It  was  submitted  to  the  former  Controleur- 
general,  Nicholas  Desmarets,  nephew  of  the  great  Col- 
bert, and  favorably  known  for  his  zeal  and  intelli- 
gence in  averting  financial  difficulties  during  the  last 
years  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  He  entirely  disap- 
proved Law's  scheme.  Nevertheless,  the  regent  ac- 
cepted it.  He  liked  its  novelty.  Better  still,  he  liked 
the  certainty,  as  explained  to  him  more  minutely  by 
Law,  of  its  drawing  forth  all  the  hoarded-up  cash  in 
the  country,  in  exchange  for  stock  of  the  "  Banque  du 
Roi,"  as  Law's  bank  was  henceforth  to  be  called. 

Without  attempting  to  detail  the  mode  of  opera- 
tion in  this  famous  "  Systeme  Law," — of  which  an 
explanation,  more  or  less  clear,  is  to  be  found  in  every 
history  of  France — it  may  be  mentioned  that  there 
was  established,  in  connection  with  the  Royal  Bank,  a 
**  Compagnie   de  Commerce  d'Occident,"  Vv^hich  was 


THE  RUE   QUINCAMPOIX.  ^ 

guaranteed  to  realize  fabulous  profits  by  trading  in 
tlie  Mississippi,  colonizing  Louisiana,  and  developing 
its  rich  mineral  resources.  Of  the  Mississippi  few 
knew  more  than  that  it  was  reported  to  be  a  mine  of 
wealth.  This  company  was  about  as  substantial  as  its 
bubble  contemporary,  the  South  Sea  Company.  But 
the  fever  of  speculation  excited  by  the  desire  to  se- 
cure a  share  of  the  imaginary  boundless  riches  that 
were  promised  to  France,  gave  rise  to  scenes  in  the 
Rue  Quincampoix,  where  the  company  had  its  offices, 
that  exceeded  in  tumultuousness  those  of  Change  Al- 
ley and  Threadneedle  Street.  Daily,  from  early  dawn, 
crowds  of  eager  men  and  women  assembled  in  that 
long,  narrow,  grimy  street,  waiting  for  the  opening  of 
the  bureau.  As  the  hour  drew  on,  the  throng  still  in- 
creased, all  struggling  to  get  nearer  the  door.  Press- 
ing upon  each  other,  some  fainted,  others  fell,  and, 
crushed  or  trampled  upon,  were  carried  away  dead. 

This  Rue  Quincampoix  was  the  principal  stock- 
jobbing rendezvous;  and  as  the  whole  of  the  Parisian 
population  had  become  stock-jobbers,  it  was  a  very 
animated  part  of  the  city.  "There  was  no  longer 
either  business  or  society  in  Paris,"  says  a  French  wri- 
ter. "The  workman,  the  tradesman,  the  magistrate, 
the  man  of  letters,  concerned  themselves  only  with  the 
rise  and  fall  in  stocks;  the  news  of  the  day  being  their 
losses  and  gains.  Nowhere  was  there  any  other  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  or  any  other  gambling  than  gam- 
bling in  stocks."  Enormous  fortunes  were  made  so 
rapidly  that  a  frenzy  for  acquiring  wealth,  difficult  to 
describe,  took  possession  of  every  one's  mind.  Many 
who  began  their  speculations  with  a  single  govern- 
ment note  of  five  hundred  francs,  by  taking  advantage 
of  the  constant  fluctuation  in  the  value  of  specie,  bank- 


86  THE  OLD  REGIME, 

stock,  government  notes,  etc.,  in  the  space  of  a  few 
weeks  were  the  possessors  of  millions.  "  Servants  who 
came  to  Paris  at  the  beginning  of  the  week  behind  the 
carriages  of  their  masters,  often,  through  some  lucky 
venture,  went  home  at  the  end  of  it  in  carriages  of 
their  own."  Law's  coachman  was  not  a  solitary  in- 
stance of  this  kind,  but  one  among  many. 

On  the  other  hand,  no  less  frequently,  wealthy  fami- 
lies were  suddenly  reduced  to  beggary.  And  suicides, 
assassinations,  and  the  many  crimes  born  of  cupidity 
and  despair,  were  of  daily  occurrence.  The  relative 
value  of  bank-stock,  specie,  and  government  notes 
often  rose  and  fell  several  times  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  This  was  regulated  solely  by  Law,  attentive  only 
to  keep  up  the  speculative  fever  he  had  created,  and 
to  draw  in  the  cash  while  continuing  to  issue  new  pa- 
per. Of  this  the  amount  in  circulation  represented 
more  than  eighty  times  the  value  of  all  the  specie  in 
the  kingdom. 

At  the  same  time,  never  had  there  been  known  such 
profusion  and  extravagance  in  dress,  in  furniture,  in 
equipages,  banquets,  and  fetes  as  prevailed  in  Paris 
at  this  period.  For  it  was  not  only  the  sumptuous  en- 
tertainments given  by  the  regent  and  the  court  circle 
— surpassing  all  that  had  been  dreamed  of  in  the  good 
old  days  of  Louis  XIV. — that  astonished  the  few  per- 
sons who  were  staid  and  sedate,  or  that  yet  remained 
of  the  old  school.  It  was  the  lavish  style  of  living  of 
those  who  had  suddenly  grown  rich;  often  persons  of 
the  lowest  class,  yet  who  could  find  amongst  the  most 
splendid  hotels  of  the  old  nobility  no  dwelling  suffi- 
ciently magnificent  for  them.  In  this  way  some  fine 
specimens  of  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  century  archi- 
tecture disappeared,  to  make  way  for  new  edifices, 


THE  COURTIERS  PAY  THEIR  DEBTS.  g; 

often  never  begun.  For  before  the  ground  was 
cleared,  the  wealthy  pan^enu^  who  had  "  dreamt  of 
dwelling  in  marble  halls,"  had  been  driven  back,  by  a 
turn  of  Fortune's  wheel,  to  his  pallet  in  the  cellar  or 
garret;  or  if  begun,  the  building  was  usually  com- 
pleted on  a  scale  very  inferior  in  grandeur  and  extent 
to  that  first  proposed. 

The  theatres  had  their  full  share  of  this  rich  harvest 
of  paper.  Never,  at  the  Italiens  or  the  Th^dtre  Fran- 
9ais,  had  there  been  witnessed  a  more  splendid  array 
of  toilettes,  or  a  more  brilliant  display  of  diamonds  and 
other  je  A'els  than  nightly  might  then  have  been  seen 
there.  There  was  as  eager  a  competition  for  the  pos- 
session of  an  opera  box  as  for  a  share  in  the  Mississippi 
Company,  with  this  disadvantage  to  the  manager — 
that  he  could  not  multiply  his  boxes,  as  Law  did  his 
shares,  at  pleasure.  The  renter  of  an  opera  box  had 
his  arms  emblazoned  on  the  door.  The  herald- 
painter,  not  too  rich  or  too  proud  to  work,  had  a  flour- 
ishing time  of  it  among  the  new  nobility.  For  all  of 
course  assumed  the  de,  and  generally  discovered  they 
had  a  right  to  it;  unknown  survivors  of  noble  families 
supposed  to  be  extinct  being  found  to  be  wondrously 
numerous. 

So  long  as  the  Royal  Bank  commanded  confidence, 
and  its  notes  circulated  freely,  the  reckless  style  of  liv- 
ing, and  the  feverish  pursuit  of  pleasure  it  had  in- 
duced, went  on  unabated.  Those  who,  at  the  flood- 
tide  of  fortune,  had  exchanged  their  bank  paper  for 
substantial  possessions,  of  course  remained  rich. 
While  those  who  had  sold  to  obtain  this  much-coveted 
paper,  looking  for  enormous  dividends,  when  the  gold- 
laden  galleons  should  bring  the  treasures  of  Louisiana 
to  France,  sank  into  hopeless  poverty;  whose  end  was 


8g  TtiE  OLD  RAcmn. 

often  madness  or  crime.  Rolls  of  the  Royal  bank- 
notes, as  many  as  they  needed,  were  supplied  to  the 
regent  and  the  grandees  of  the  court.  With  these 
they  followed  in  extravagance  the  example  of  the/^r- 
ve7ius,  and  also  took  the  opportunity  of  paying  their 
debts. 

It  was  at  this  time  that,  advised  by  Saint-Simon,  the 
famous  diamond,  known  as  the  "  Regent,"  was  bought. 
The  man  in  whose  possession  it  was  had  been  em- 
ployed as  overlooker  in  the  Golconda  mines.  Con- 
triving to  secrete  this  fine  stone  and  to  leave  his  occu- 
pation unsuspected,  he  came  to  Europe  and  offered  his 
diamond  for  sale,  without  success,  at  every  European 
court.  Arriving  in  France,  he  sought  out  Law,  who 
took  the  diamond  to  the  regent,  and  proposed  to  him 
to  purchase  it  for  the  king.  The  price,  three  millions 
of  francs  in  hard  cash,  induced  him  to  decline.  But 
at  the  suggestion  of  Saint-Simon,  Law  was  authorized 
to  endeavor  to  make  some  arrangement  with  the  owner 
for  a  lower  sum.  Two  millions  was  the  price  for 
which  he  at  last  consented  to  part  with  it.  But  as  im- 
mediate payment  was  not  convenient,  a  certain  delay 
was  conceded,  and  the  interest  for  that  time  on  the 
sum  agreed  upon  was  at  once  handed  to  him;  while, 
as  security  for  the  payment  of  the  two  millions,  crown 
jewels  to  the  value  of  eight  millions  were  deposited  in 
his  hands.* 

*  The  '*  Regent"  is  considered  a  much  finer  stone  than  the  Sancy, 
which  was  bought  from  a  Swiss  for  an  /<:«,  or  three  francs,  by  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy,  some  time  during  the  fifteenth  century.  After 
passing  through  several  hands  it  came  into  the  possession  of  Har- 
lay-de-Sancy  as  security  for  40,000  francs  lent  to  Dom  Antonio  of 
Portugal,  who  afterwards  sold  it  to  Sancy  for  a  further  advance  of 
60,000  francs.  Sancy  disposed  of  it  to  James,  of  England,  through 
whom  it  came  into  the  possession  of  Louis  XIV. 


DECEIVED  A^'D  RUWED.  89 

The  great  embezzlement  scheme  had,  up  to  this 
time,  satisfied  those  who  profited  by  it.  The  regent 
heaped  honors,  titles,  and  estates  upon  Law;  made  him 
Councillor  of  State  and  Comptroller-general  of  the 
finances;  though,  while  enriching  others,  he  had  not 
forgotten  his  own  private  interests.  But  the  first  blow 
to  the  '*  systeme"  was  about  to  be  struck.  Just,  too, 
when  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Law,  finding  the 
hotel  in  the  Place  Vendome  an  unsuitable  residence, 
were  in  treaty  for  that  more  commodious  one,  the 
splendid  Hotel  Soissons.  The  offices  of  the  Royal 
Bank  were  established  on  the  ground-floor  of  the 
Hotel  Vendome.  There,  speculating  ladies  intruded 
on  Law  at  all  hours — seeking  advice  as  to  the  expe- 
diency of  buying  or  selling  in  the  course  of  the  day — 
and  sometimes,  Mdmes.  de  Parabere  and  de  Tencin, 
for  instance,  taking  away  a  bundle  of  notes  with  them; 
notes  that  might  have  been  issued  from  any  printing 
house,  as  no  precautions  whatever  were  taken  against 
forgery. 

The  scarcity  of  specie — all  pensions  and  salaries 
being  also  paid  in  paper — began  to  be  felt  as  an  ex- 
treme inconvenience.  It  even  raised  suspicions  in 
some  minds.  A  considerable  quantity  of  paper  was  in 
consequence  presented  at  the  bank,  and  cash  re- 
quested. The  next  day  appeared  an  edict  prohibit- 
ing the  conversion  of  the  notes  into  specie,  also  for- 
bidding all  persons  to  retain  possession  of  more  than 
five  hundred  francs  in  cash.  This  created  a  panic. 
The  Parliament  remonstrated,  and  refused  to  register 
the  edict.  Law  complained  to  the  regent,  and  the 
Parliament  was  banished  to  Pontoise.  New  paper 
was  issued,  but  could  not  be  put  into  circulation.  For 
the  eyes  of  most  persons  began  to  open  to  the  fact 


90  TUR  OLD  RJ^GIME. 

that  they  had  been  deceived  and  ruined.  Numberless 
were  the  expedients  resorted  to  by  Law  to  restore  the 
credit  of  the  now  decried  paper;  but  none  of  them 
availed. 

The  people  thronged  the  Place  Vendome,  and 
threatened  to  attack  the  bank.  Law  took  refuge  in 
the  Palais  Royal.  "  Where,"  says  Voltaire,  "  I  had 
formerly  seen  him  enter  the  saloon,  followed  by  dukes 
and  peers  of  the  realm;  by  Marshals  of  France  and 
high  dignitaries  of  the  Church."  Now,  humiliated 
and  crestfallen,  he  seeks  the  protection  of  the  regent, 
at  whose  hands  the  people  without  are  demanding  the 
man  who  has  brought  ruin  on  the  nation.  The  tur- 
bulence of  passion  is  at  its  height.  But  the  regent, 
who  is  more  guilty  than  Law,  favors  his  escape  to 
Flanders.  The  Due  de  Bourbon-Conde  lends  him  his 
post-chaise  for  a  part  of  his  journey — he  could  hardly 
do  less  for  the  man  who  had  enriched  him  by  so  many 
millions.  For,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  obscure 
persons  who  made  and  retained  a  fortune,  it  was  the 
regent  and  the  court  who  were  the  gainers.  The 
great  wealth  of  several  princely  and  noble  houses 
dates  from  that  time. 

In  being  thus,  suddenly  and  wholly  unprepared, 
compelled  to  quit  Paris,  Law  was  unable  to  realize 
his  colossal  fortune,  which  consisted  chiefly  in  exten- 
sive landed  estates.  Two  thousand  louis,  and  a  few 
of  his  wife's  jewels,  were  said  to  be  all  he  took  from 
France  with  him.  He  passed  over  to  England,  where, 
it  was  asserted,  but  with  little  foundation,  that  he  had 
large  sums  of  money  invested.  From  London  he 
went  to  Venice,  schemed  and  speculated,  but  without 
success,  and  died  there  in  1729,  in  circumstances  that 
did  not  denote  the  possession  of  much  wealth.     "  His 


ORDER  OUT  OF  DISORDER. 


91 


widow,"  writes  Voltaire,  "  I  saw  while  I  was  in  Brus- 
sels, She  was  as  humble  there  as  she  had  been 
haughty  and  triumphant  in  Paris."  Such  was  the 
dinouement  of  what  the  French,  with  their  accustomed 
levity,  were  pleased  to  call  "  La  Com6die  de  Law." 

The  State  was  more  in  debt  than  before.  "  Some 
swindlers,"  writes  Duclos,  "of  the  upper  and  lower 
classes  had  grown  rich.  The  bourgeoisie  was  ruined: 
every  one  was  dissatisfied  with  his  position,  and  com- 
mercial morality  was  at  an  end."  To  add  to  the  gene- 
ral distress,  inundations  and  extensive  fires  ravaged 
several  of  the  French  provinces,  and  Marseilles  was 
nearly  depopulated  by  the  excessive  virulence  of  the 
plague. 

It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  devise  without  delay 
some  means  for  alleviating  the  wide-spread  misery 
brought  on  the  country  by  the  exploded  "  Syst^me 
Law."  This  difficult  financial  operation  was  under- 
taken by  the  Brothers  P^ris,  bankers,  who  had  been 
opponents  of  Law's  system  from  its  outset.  By  their 
great  financial  ability  and  untiring  zeal,  they  at 
length  succeeded  in  evoking  some  sort  of  order  out 
of  disorder;  and  in  effecting  an  arrangement  which, 
if  it  failed  to  meet  all  ills  resulting  from  the  Systeme, 
secured  at  least  the  eventual  payment  of  the  debts  of 
the  State, 


CHAPTER  X. 

Death  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. — The  Czar's  Visit  to  St.  Cyr. 
— A  Complimentary  Salutation. — The  Czar  Peter  in  Paris. — 
Thirst  for  Useful  Knowledge. — Special  "Interviewing." — 
The  Invitation  to  the  Ball. — Effect  of  Peter's  Visit  to  Paris. 
— Madame  de  Caylus. — Palais  Royal  Banquets. — B6chamel, 
Marin,  Soubise. — Supper  after  the  Opera. — Fashions  of  the 
Period. — The  Ladies'  Toilettes. — Les  Belles  Dames  at  Sup- 
per.— An  Example  to  the  Czar. 

While  the  events  just  referred  to  were  occurring  in 
France,  there  died  at  St.  Cyr,  in  17 19,  the  widow  of 
the  poor  ribald  poet,  Scarron,  and  of  the  great  Louis 
XIV.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  then  in  her  eighty- 
fourth  year,  passed  away  calmly  and  with  little  bodily 
suffering.  Sight  and  hearing  remained  with  her  to 
the  last,  and  her  mental  faculties  were  wholly  unim- 
paired. To  within  a  few  days  of  her  death,  she  regu- 
larly corresponded  with  her  nieces,  and  with  many 
old  friends  of  the  old  court;  and  her  letters  are  not 
only  remarkably  chatty  and  cheerful,  but  often  very 
witty. 

The  supersedure  of  the  will  of  the  late  king,  and 
more  especially  the  malignant  hate  with  which  the 
Due  du  Maine  was  pursued  by  the  regent  and  the  Due 
de  Bourbon,  affected  her  deeply.  Otherwise  she  might 
have  continued  to  live  on  for  some  years;  though  she 
confessed  to  finding  her  seclusion  a  weariness.  It 
would  have  gratified  her,  she  wrote,  could  she  con- 
sistently have  done  so,  to  have  enjoyed  more  of  the 


THE   CZAI^S   VISIT   TO   ST.    CYR. 


93 


society  of  those  wTio  understood  better  than  the  good 
sisters  who  presided  at  St.  Cyr  the  feelings  and  ideas 
of  one  who  had  passed  so  much  of  her  life  in  the  great 
world.  But  as  time  went  on  she  resigned  herself  to 
that.  Her  death-blow,  no  doubt,  was  the  arrest  and 
imprisonment  of  the  Due  du  Maine.  She  was  so  de- 
votedly attached  to  him,  that  anxiety  for  his  safety 
made  her  augur  the  worst  "  His  goodness  and  piety, 
and  his  having  been  the  favorite  son  of  a  great  king, 
were  his  only  crimes,"  she  said;  "crimes  which  his 
enemies  could  not  forgive  him,"  She  did  not  live  to 
hear  of  his  release,  and  his  acquittal  of  all  complicity 
in  his  wife's  political  intrigues. 

The  Czar  Peter  the  Great  visited  Paris  shortly  be- 
fore Madame  de  Maintenon's  death.  He  had  a  desire 
to  see  the  woman  who,  in  the  decline  of  life,  had  cap- 
tivated the  Grand  Monarque^  and  whose  secret  counsels 
so  largely  influenced  the  affairs  of  Europe  for  full 
thirty  years.  Madame  de  Maintenon  consented  to  re- 
ceive him.  An  ante-room  and  two  salonSy  draped  with 
black,  as  was  customary  for  royal  mourning,  led  to 
her  chamber,  the  hangings  and  furniture  of  which 
were  of  crimson  silk  damask.  She  was  reclining  on 
her  couch,  supported  by  pillows.  Two  ladies  of  the 
establishment  were  seated  near  her.  Her  dress  was  a 
Hongreline,  or  long  jacket  of  gray  velvet,  and  a  flat, 
plaited  lace  cap,  under  a  black  silk  coiffe.  Over  her 
was  spread  an  ermine  coverlet;  which  may  have  been 
intended  to  indicate  royalty,  like  the  ermine  mantle 
thrown  over  her  when  her  portrait  was  painted  by 
order  of  Louis  XIV. 

Describing  the  interview  herself,  she  says  she  re- 
ceived the  Czar,  after  the  Marechal  de  Villeroi,  who 
introduced  him,  had  left  the  room,  vathout  any  further 


94 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


ceremony  than  that  of  taking  off  her  black  silk  mit- 
tens; this  being  the  etiquette  of  the  period,  when  in 
the  presence  of  a  person  of  superior  rank. 

The  Czar,  on  entering,  paid  her  a  similar  compli- 
ment, in  the  Russian  mode  of  salutation.  He  closed 
his  eyes,  and,  with  his  arms  hanging  straight  by  his 
side,  slowly  bent  his  body  until  the  tips  of  his  fingers 
touched  the  floor;  then,  as  slowly,  resumed  his  upright 
position.  He  seated  himself  in  the  large  arm-chair  of 
crimson  and  gold  brocade,  arranged  for  him  by  the 
side  of  the  aged  invalid's  couch,  and  silently  gazed  on 
her  so  earnestly,  that,  as  she  tells  Madame  de  Caylus, 
she  could  scarcely  forbear  a  smile.  But  as  in  that 
position  he  obtained  only  a  side  view  of  her,  he 
wheeled  round  the  massive  arm-chair  with  a  noise 
that  was  perfectly  startling,  and  looked  her  straight 
in  the  face. 

He  could,  had  he  chosen,  have  made  himself  well 
understood  in  French.  But  it  was  his  good  pleasure 
to  use  the  Russian  tongue;  his  ambassador,  who  ac- 
companied him,  serving  as  interpreter.  He  was,  how- 
ever, so  ill-qualified  for  the  office,  that  Madame  de 
Maintenon  understood  little  more  than  that  all  the 
Czar  had  seen  at  St.  Cyr  pleased  him  well,  and  that 
he  proposed  to  found  at  St.  Petersburg  a  similar 
establishment.  She  replied  by  a  flattering  eulogy  of 
the  late  king ;  to  which  the  Czar  listened  with  pro- 
found attention.  He  then  took  leave  with  the  same 
formal  salaam;  she  half  raising  herself  on  her  couch 
to  acknowledge  it. 

The  habits  and  tastes  of  the  great  Peter  were  but 
little  in  accordance  with  those  of  the  upper  classes  in 
France.  He  was  very  differently  impressed,  from  what 
yvas  expected,  by  the  fetes  prepared  for  his  entertain- 


THE   CZAR  PETER  IN  PARIS.  95 

ment.  But  what  he  sought  out  for  his  own  amuse- 
ment, as  well  as  instruction,  and  which  scarcely  any 
one  thought  of  showing  him,  interested  hinx  greatly. 
He  particularly  admired  the  mausoleum  of  the  great 
cardinal,  in  the  Sorbonne.  But  it  was  rather  admira- 
tion of  the  stern  inflexible  will  of  the  man  whose  ashes 
reposed  beneath  it  than  of  the  skill  of  the  artist  in  the 
execution  of  the  monument.  The  splendors  of  the 
Hotel  Lesdiguidres  were  scarcely  of  a  kind  to  be 
appreciated  by  him;  though  on  his  return  to  his  own 
capital  he  instituted  changes  in  his  palace  and  in  the 
toilet  of  his  beautiful  Catherine,  which  led  to  the  taste 
for  luxury  and  magnificence,  at  first  rather  barbaric, 
that  developed  itself  at  the  Russian  court  so  speedily 
after  his  death. 

The  Marquis  de  Tess6  played  the  host  at  the  Hotel 
Lesdigui^res.  The  Marquis  de  Nesle  and  Due  de 
Villeroi  were  appointed  to  meet  the  Czar  on  the  fron- 
tier with  a  suitable  escort.  The  number  of  elaborately 
embroidered  coats,  and  uniforms  covered  with  gold 
and  silver  lace,  they  thought  it  necessary  to  take  with 
them  to  do  honor  to  the  Russian  despot,  excited  his 
ridicule,  as  by  degrees  they  displayed  their  ample 
wardrobe.  Each  morning,  each  evening,  a  new  cos- 
tume, while  the  Czar  keeps  to  his  one  plain  suit  of 
heavy  blue  cloth,  and  laughingly  inquires  why  these 
French  gentlemen  employ  so  bad  a  tailor,  as  appar- 
ently he  cannot  supply  a  coat  that  pleases  well  enough 
to  be  worn  a  second  time.  Yet  the  example  of  those 
about  him  so  far  influenced  the  great  Peter  in  the 
matter  of  personal  adornment,  that  he  provided  him- 
self with  a  handsomely  embroidered  blue  satin  coat. 
Probably  he  first  appeared  in  it  at  some  Parisian  f^te. 
History  has,  however,  overlooked  that  fact,  if  fact  it 


^6  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

be,  or  has  not  thought  it  worthy  of  being  handed 
down  to  posterity. 

The  bump  of  inquisitiveness,  so  characteristic,  in  its 
largeness  of  development,  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  could  scarcely  have  had  a 
place  at  all  in  the  cranium  of  the  folk  of  the  early  part 
of  the  eighteenth.  Had  the  same  thirst  for  useful 
knowledge  existed  then  as  now,  there  doubtless  would 
have  been  the  same  laudable  endeavor  to  slake  it. 
The  most  persevering  and  keen-eyed  on  the  staff  of 
"  our  own  "  would  have  been  specially  commissioned 
"  to  interview,"  nolens^  volens^  the  great  Russian  bear. 
Prying  eyes  would  have  found  out  for  us,  together 
with  a  hundred  other  interesting  minutiae,  whether 
Peter  took  a  bath  and  put  on  a  fine  linen  chemise  be- 
fore donning  his  blue  satin  coat,  or  whether  the  rough 
monster  had  so  little  sense  of  harmony  and  beauty  and 
the  fitness  of  things  as,  with  unwashed  hands,  to  slip 
it  on  over  a  "  false  front,"  hiding  a  red  or  blue  Jersey 
shirt.  Compared  with  the  seventeenth  century,  French 
memoir  writers  are  few  in  the  eighteenth.  How  inval- 
uable, then,  would  the  gatherings  and  scrapings  of  a 
special  interviewer  have  proved  at  this  date;  one 
restrained  by  no  feelings  of  false  delicacy  from  turning 
his  subject  inside  out,  and  doing  his  duty  to  his  pub- 
lic, by  telling  us  all  things.  It  is  comforting  to  know 
that  the  unborn  generation  will  have  scant  reason  to 
reproach  the  present  one  for  any  reticence  of  that  sort. 

But  to  return  for  a  moment  to  the  blue  satin  coat. 
We  know  that  it  was  worn  on  that  grand  and  memora- 
ble occasion,  which  may  be  termed  the  virtual  emanci- 
pation of  woman  in  Russia.  The  issuing  of  the  Ukase, 
commanding  the  nobles  and  court  officials,  and  all  who 
held  any  appointment,  civil  or  military,  to  come  to  a 


PETER'S    VISIT   TO  PARIS, 


97 


ball  at  his  palace,  and  to  bring  with  them  their  wives 
and  daughters — poor  oppressed  women,  who,  hitherto, 
had  lived  in  seclusion  under  the  iron  rule  of  their  mas- 
ters— was  a  very  happy  stroke  of  despotism.  Many 
among  the  great  army  of  saints  enrolled  in  the  Holy 
Calendar,  have  been  canonized  for  far  less  deserving 
deeds.  To  those  who  did  not  readily  obey  the  com- 
mand of  the  Czar — and  some  few  did  venture  to 
evince  a  reluctance  to  let  loose  their  womankind — 
Peter  despatched  a  second  command,  accompanied  by 
a  menace  of  the  knout.  This  had,  of  course,  its  due 
effect.  Above  all,  the  company  was  bidden  to  come 
sober,  and  if  they  wore  swords  to  leave  them  at  home, 
as  all  would  be  required  to  dance.  To  set  a  good  ex- 
ample, Peter  and  Catherine,  very  praiseworthily,  made 
a  point  of  taking  but  half  their  usual  quantity  of 
brandy  and  tokay  that  day.  Good  manners  and 
urbanity  therefore  prevailed;  and  this  first  Russian 
attempt  at  a  court  reunion  passed  off  remarkably  well. 

Though  Peter's  object  in  visiting  foreign  countries 
was  chiefly,  as  we  all  know,  to  obtain  further  insight 
into  whatever  was  likely  to  increase  the  material  pros- 
perity of  his  own,  it  seems  evident  that  he  was  not  an 
unobservant  spectator  of  French  society,  or  of  woman's 
influence  in  it  His  visit  to  Paris  led  to  many  social 
changes  in  Russia.  It  was  probably  the  cause  of  his 
placing  Catherine  in  a  more  prominent  and  influential 
position  than  before.  It  is  remarkable  what  defer- 
ence this  man,  so  rough  in  outward  demeanor,  so 
innately  cruel,  paid  to  the  lowly-born  woman  he  made 
his  wife,  elevated  to  a  throne  and  crowned  with  so 
much  pomp  and  ceremony.  Peter  certainly  took  a 
lesson  in  gallantry  while  in  France,  and  profited  by  it. 

He  interested  himself  in  many  things  that  were  at- 


98  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

tractive  to  him  from  their  novelty,  which  often  con- 
sisted only  in  a  refinement  he  was  wholly  unused  to. 
He  was  obliged  to  observe  some  degree  of  moderation 
in  his  habit  of  excessive  drinking,  and  was  probably 
all  the  better  for  it.  The  little  king  pleased  and 
amused  him,  though  he  was  growing  up  a  silent,  self- 
willed  child;  petted  and  spoiled  by  his  elderly  guar- 
dians, the  Marechal  de  Villeroi  and  the  Bishop  of 
Frejus. 

But  among  ladies  who  chiefly  attracted  the  Czar, 
Madame  de  Caylus  obtained  his  highest  admiration. 
He  had  heard  of  the  beauty  of  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non's  charming  niece,  and  had  been  very  desirous  of 
seeing  her.  At  this  time  she  was  no  lor^ger  young. 
She  had  passed  the  terrible  fortieth  year,,  and  had 
lived  in  seclusion  for  some  years;  but  during  the  re- 
gency she  reappeared  in  Parisian  society — according 
to  Saint-Simon — full  of  vivacity,  and  as  beautiful  and 
charmingly  seductive  as  ever.  She  bore  away  the 
palm  from  younger  beauties — the  frail  but  lovely 
Madame  de  Parabere,  and  the  fair  Haidee  (Mdlle. 
Aisse),  whose  history  is  so  like  a  romance. 

Louis  XIV.  disliked  Madame  de  Caylus.  She  was 
too  sparkling,  too  spirituelle  to  please  him.  He  was 
shocked  at  any  unexpected  sally  of  wit,  as  at  "  an  in- 
decency," and  the  youthful  Marquise  (she  was  married 
at  thirteen)  frequently  sinned  in  that  way.  More  than 
all  she  inclined  towards  Jansenism.  Even  her  aunt 
could  not  overlook  that;  she  was,  therefore,  when 
about  nineteen,  banished  from  the  court  circle,  and  re- 
mained fourteen  years  in  disgrace.  During  that  time 
she  turned  very  seriously  to  devotion;  fasted  and 
prayed,  and  became  gloomy,  under  the  spiritual  di- 
rection of  a  Jansenist  priest.     By  and  by  she  grew 


bAchamel,  ma  kin,  soubise.  99 

weary  of  so  joy  less  a  life;  abjured  Jansenism,  and  took  a 
Jesuit  father  for  her  confessor.  This  restored  her  to 
the  favor  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  then  pleaded 
for  her  erring  niece  with  the  king.  The  Grand  Mon- 
arquCy  pleased  with  her  repentance,  not  only  vouch- 
safed his  pardon,  but  also  granted  an  increase  of  four 
thousand  francs  to  her  pension  of  six  thousand. 

Madame  de  Caylus  had  recently  become  a  widow — 
a  circumstance  supposed  to  have  influenced  the  change 
in  her  religious  or  theological  opinions.  But  whether 
or  not,  the  prevailing  license  seems  to  have  had  some 
effect  on  her,  for  Saint-Simon,  her  great  admirer,  says 
that  both  Jansenists  and  Jesuits  were  objects  of  her 
pleasantries.  "The  regency  approached,"  he  says, 
"and  she  struck  the  key-note."  Yet  during  that  bril- 
liant period  when  Law's  bank-notes  were  so  plentiful, 
and  the  Palais  Royal  entertainments  so  magnificent, 
she  seems  to  have  been  doubtful  as  to  the  propriety 
of  joining  them.  Madame  de  Maintenon  was  appealed 
to.  She,  of  course,  did  not  approve  the  regent's  disso- 
lute mode  of  life;  but  with  reference  to  these  public 
banquets,  she  replies:  "  You  must  go  to  them,  it  will  not 
do  to  condemn  those  in  authority." 

Thus  sanctioned,  Madame  de  Caylus  could,  without 
scruple,  take  her  seat  with  other  ladies  at  these  enter- 
tainments, to  which  the  nobility  and  the  beau  monde 
generally  were  invited.  She  even  sometimes  presided, 
"like  a  rather  lively  grace;  like  one  of  Homer's  god- 
desses; charming  all  hearts,  and  making  them  forget 
everything,  even  love."  The  regent  certainly  set  the 
fashion  in  France  of  good  cookery  and  extravagant 
living.  The  menus  of  the  celebrated  Vicomte  have 
been  pronounced  by  connoisseurs  in  gastronomy 
chefs-d'csuvre  of  their  kind;  while  sauce  h  la  Bechamel, 


100  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

and  champagne  h  la  glace  are  still  as  much  in  favor  as 
when,  a  century  and  a  half  ago,  that  sublime  genius 
invented  them.  The  Prince  de  Soubise  and  his  dis- 
tinguished chef^  Marin,  who  flourished  rather  later  in 
the  century,  originated  some  very  costly  dishes;  but 
none  of  their  creations  have  obtained  such  general 
acceptance,  and  so  long  retained  undiminished  popu- 
larity, as  those  of  the  famous  Vicomte  de  Bechamel. 

It  was  the  fashion  at  that  time  at  certain  hotels  of 
the  noblesse  to  prepare  a  supper,  on  opera  nights,  for 
ten  or  twelve  friends,  who  were  invited  during  the 
performance  to  return  home  with  the  host  or  hostess. 
Care  was  taken  to  have  an  equal  number  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen.  Returning  from  the  opera  or  theatre  was 
a  miserable  affair  in  those  times.  The  feeble  gleam 
from  the  lanterns,  or  the  lurid  glare  of  torches,  both 
carried  by  men — for,  as  yet,  there  were  no  lamps — gave 
but  a  very  flickering,  uncertain  light,  often  treacher- 
ously leading  both  horses  and  men  into  quagmires  of 
accumulated  mud,  threatening  to  life  and  limb.  To 
enter  the  hall  of  some  splendid  hotel  after  traversing 
the  gloomy  streets,  was  like  passing  from  Cimmerian 
darkness  into  the  bright  precincts  of  fairyland. 

Girandoles  of  chased  silver  or  Venetian  glass,  filled 
with  wax-lights,  are  ranged  on  the  walls.  Splendid 
candelabra  on  the  table,  which  is  covered  with  finest 
white  linen  from  Holland,  sparkling  crystal  glass,  and 
Japanese  porcelain,  or  a  magnificent  table  service  in 
silver;  vases  and  epergnes,  filled  with  flowers  and 
fruits,  giving  color  and  beauty  to  the  table  arrange- 
ments. The  champagne  is  ready,  and  the  more  sub- 
stantial part  of  the  supper  only  waits  the  presence  of 
the  guests. 

And  the  guests  themselves  form  a  brilliant  show, 


THE  LADIES    TOILETTES:  *i6l 

quite  worth  bestowing  a  glance  upon.  The  gentlemen 
wear  fewer  superfluous  puffings  of  satin  and  velvet 
than  in  the  Louis  XIV.  time.  They  have  also  greatly 
diminished  the  height,  length,  and  breadth  of  their 
wigs.  Some  have  altogether  dispensed  with  flowing 
curls  at  the  back,  and  have  adopted  powder  and  the 
bag-wig.  The  late  king  was  persuaded  to  try  it,  but 
can  hardly  be  said  to  have  adopted  it,  and  in  the  size 
of  his  peruke  he  would  not  abate  an  inch.  Embroid- 
ered silk  or  velvet  coats  are  still  the  fashion;  but  they 
sit  closer  to  the  figure.  The  voluminous  trunk-hose 
are  entirely  abandoned,  except  on  state  days,  for  a 
tighter-fitting  garment,  with  a  long  embroidered  vest. 
There  is  an  ample  display  of  fine  lace  in  frills  and  ruf- 
fles. Diamonds  glitter  in  buttons,  on  sword-hilts,  and 
in  feather-bordered  hats;  and  the  red-heeled  shoes,  cut 
in  a  high  flap  above  the  instep,  are  fastened  by  elabo- 
rately chased  gold  or  diamond  buckles. 

The  elderly  ladies  of  this  period  did  not  follow  the 
changing  modes  of  the  younger  ones.  They  continued 
to  wear  the  plainer  and  more  suitable  style  of  dress 
introduced  by  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

Like  the  gentlemen,  the  young  ladies  have  cut  down 
their  head-dresses  to  a  moderate  height.  All  wear 
powder.  It  is  thought  to  be  advantageous  to  the 
complexion,  and  to  impart  lustre  to  the  eyes  and  bril- 
liancy to  the  eyelashes.  Pearls  and  diamonds  and 
lace  are  intertwined  with  the  hair.  The  blondes  are 
lavish  in  the  use  of  patches;  but  it  is  lamentable  to 
note  that  snuff-taking  is  becoming  far  too  general  a 
habit,  many  pretty  noses  showing  traces  of  it.  There 
is,  you  perceive,  no  diminution  in  the  spread  of  the 
panter,  and  the  skirt,  long  and  training  at  the  back,  is 
caught  up  at  the  side  with  bows  of  riband  with  long 


102  TEE   OLD  REGIME. 

floating  enJs.  The  shoes  are  really  artistic  produc- 
tions, and  extravagant  as  they  are  in  price,  it  is  yet 
impossible  to  speak  of  such  marvels  of  workmanship 
as  dear.  The  cordonnier  of  that  day  (to  translate  him 
into  a  shoemaker  is  to  drag  him,  as  it  were,  from  his 
pedestal)  was  truly  an  artist. 

How  gracefully,  too,  the  ruffles  of  fine  point  d'Alen- 
(on  wave  to  and  fro,  as  the  ladies  flutter  their  fans. 
"  This  is  a  Lancret,"  remarks  one  of  the  fair  dames 
as  she  opens  her  fan  for  inspection.  "  Watteau,  you 
know,  has  grown  ambitious  since  the  Academy  has  re- 
ceived his  pictures." 

"  Yes,  he  has  forsaken  his  shepherdesses,  and  has 
sent  a  really  fine  picture  to  the  salon  this  season — '  In- 
fantry on  the  March.'  But  he  is  ill,  and  I  fear  will 
paint  but  few  more." 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Le  Couvreur  in  Mariamne  ?" 
asks  another  who  has  just  dropped  in  after  the  Thea- 
tre Frangais.  "  No  ?  You  must  then.  She  is  splen- 
did in  mourning.  Made  quite  an  impression.  Voltaire 
does  well  to  pay  homage  in  that  quarter.  I  am  told 
he  is  constantly  on  his  knees  before  her.  He  knows 
that  it  is  Adrienne  more  than  Mariamne  that  raises 
such  2ifureur" 

Seated  round  the  splendidly  appointed  table  this 
grand  company  is  really  a  charming  sight.  There  is 
more  talking  than  eating,  with  the  ladies,  at  least;  yet 
the  foaming  vtn  d'Ai  seems  to  meet  with  their  full  ap- 
proval. It  is  to  be  feared  that  it  is  even  growing  too 
much  in  favor  with  these  fine  ladies  of  the  regency. 

Is  it  not  likely  that  the  great  Peter,  though  fond  of 
going  to  bed  at  seven  or  eight  in  the  evening,  may 
once  or  twice  have  been  present  at  a  petit-souper  after 
the   Opera?     He  was  fond  of  music,  and    the  ballet 


AN  EXAMPLE    TO    THE   CZAR.  103 

pleased  him  greatly,  though  he  cared  little  for  the  per- 
formances of  the  Theatre  Fran9ais. 

It  may  be  suspected  that  it  was  so;  and  that  the 
savage  breast  of  the  Russian  bear  was  subdued  by 
the  fascinations  of  the  ladies  at  some  brilliant  reunion 
of  this  sort;  that  he  then  and  there  inwardly  resolved 
to  give  the  Muscovite  Court  an  empress,  and  to  raise 
woman  in  his  wide  empire  to  as  lofty  a  pinnacle  as 
that  upon  which  she  was  elevated  in  France. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  Turkish  Ambassador. — The  Turk's  Blessing. — The  Kings 
Unwonted  Docility. — The  Young  King's  Amusements. — The 
King's  Pastors  and  Masters. — The  King  and  his  Confessor. — 
Massillon's  Petit  Careme. — The  Preaching  of  Massillon. — 
Massillon  in  Society. — Villeroi's  Devotion  to  his  King. — A 
Youthful  Gambler. — Projected  Marriages. — The  Bulle  Uni- 
genitus. — A  Very  Vicious  Bull. — Taken  by  the  Horns  — The 
Marriages  Arranged. 

"  What  does  your  Excellency  think  of  the  beauty  of 
my  king  ?  Is  not  he  charming,  amiable,  graceful — a 
perfect  picture  ?" 

"Allah  be  praised,  and  preserve  this  fair  child  from 
all  that  is  evil  and  ill-omened  !" 

The  questioner  is  the  old  Marechal,  Due  de  Villeroi, 
the  young  king's  governor,  and  now  in  his  seventy- 
ninth  year.  He  who  replies  is  Mehemet  Effendi,  Am- 
bassador Extraordinary  from  the  Sultan,  Achmet  III. 
The  Turk  had  expressed  a  wish  to  see  the  youthful 
Louis  XV.,  and  a  day  had,  accordingly,  been  ap- 
pointed to  receive  him  at  Vincennes.  Mehemet  was 
shrewd  and  observant.  He  wrote  an  account  of  his 
embassy,  and  criticised,  with  much  acuteness,  those 
members  of  the  regent's  government  with  whom  the 
object  of  his  mission  brought  him  in  contact.  He 
speaks  with  contempt  and  disdain  of  the  infamous 
Dubois,  then  minister  for  foreign  affairs  as  well  as 
Archbishop  of  Cambrai.  "  He  did  me  the  honor," 
writes  Mehemet,  "  to  receive  me  on  a  carpet  of  cloth 


THE  KWG^S  UN^OI^TED  DOCILITY.        105 

of  gold,  but  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  favor  me 
with  one  word  of  truth." 

Of  his  interview  with  the  youthful  sovereign  and 
his  governor,  he  says,  "  After  being  introduced  by  the 
mar^chal,  we  entered  into  a  pleasant  and  friendly 
conversation  on  various  topics,  the  little  king  greatly 
admiring  the  Turkish  dress,  and  examining  my  poig- 
nard  very  minutely,  as  well  as  that  of  my  secretary, 
and  the  interpreter's  who  accompanied  me." 

Villeroi,  after  Mehemet's  reply  to  his  question  re- 
specting the  child-king's  beauty,  proceeded  to  inform 
him  that  his  king  was  but  eleven  years  and  four 
months  old,  and  that  his  figure,  as  he  perceived,  was 
already  well  developed  and  finely  proportioned. 

"  Look  well  at  his  hair,"  he  said;  "it  is  all  his  own 
— no  wig." 

"And  as  the  mar6chal  spoke,  he  turned  the  child 
round,"  remarks  Mehemet,  "  that  I  might  better  ob- 
serve his  hyacinthine  locks.  I  passed  my  fingers 
caressingly  through  them:  they  were  like  threads  of 
gold;  even  in  length,  and  falling  in  curls  over  his 
back  and  shoulders." 

"  *  He  can  walk  well,  too,'  said  his  governor.  *  Now 
let  us  see  you  walk  in  your  very  best  manner.'  And 
the  little  king,  with  the  majestic  gait  of  the  partridge, 
walked  to  the  centre  of  the  salon  and  back  again. 

"'Now,  with  greater  speed,'  he  added,  'that  his 
Excellency  may  see  how  swiftly  you  can  run.'  Im- 
mediately the  king  began  to  bound  with  the  fleetness 
of  a  young  roe  up  and  down  the  apartment.  The 
marechal  then  asked  me  if  I  did  not  think  he  was  an 
amiable  child. 

"I  answered,"  says  Mehemet,  "fervently,  as  the 
child  stood  beside  me,  with  his  hand  clasped  in  mine, 


106  THE   OLD  REG1MJ&. 

*  May  the  All-powerful  Allah,  who  created  this  beauti- 
ful being,  bless  and  preserve  him  ! '  " 

The  ambassador  appears  to  have  witnessed  this 
little  farce  with  the  most  perfect  gravity;  and  his 
youthful  majesty  to  have  been  more  docile  than  usual. 
All  accounts  represent  him  as  shy  with  strangers,  and 
apathetic  and  obstinate  in  the  extreme. 

The  Turks  and  their  rich  Oriental  dresses  were, 
however,  a  novelty  to  him,  which  may  account  for  his 
unwonted  docility,  and  the  readiness  with  which  he 
obeyed  his  doting  old  governor,  and  allowed  him  to 
put  him  through  his  paces  in  so  undignified  a  manner. 

Owing  to  the  king's  delicate  health  in  these  early 
years,  he  had  been  permitted  to  run  almost  wild,  with 
the  view  of  strengthening  his  constitution  by  much 
open-air  exercise  and  amusement.  It  was  then  scarce- 
ly expected  that  he  would  live  to  i  ttain  his  majority 
— his  thirteenth  year.  But  it  was  his  governor's 
opinion  that  his  life  was  more  in  danger  from  poison 
than  from  bodily  weakness.  Vigilant,  therefore,  was 
the  watch  he  kept  over  those  who  prepared  the  child's 
meals;  while  his  shirts,  gloves,  handkerchiefs,  and 
bed-linen  were  under  the  charge  of  the  anxious  mare- 
chal  himself. 

Hitherto  the  king  had  received  but  little  instruc- 
tion. His  preceptor,  Fleury,  Bishop  of  Frejus,  thought 
more  of  gaining  his  pupil's  affection  by  excessive  in- 
dulgence, than  of  cultivating  his  mind  and  training 
him  in  habits  of  industry.  At  La  Muette — bought 
for  him  after  the  death  of  the  Duchesse  de  Berri — 
there  was  a  small  plot  of  ground,  named  by  Villeroi 
"  His  Majesty's  garden,"  which  was  dug  and  planted 
wholly  by  himself.  He  had  also  a  cow,  which  he 
milked  and  tended.     But,  more  objectionable  still,  he 


THE  KING'S  PASTOHS  AND  MASTERS,       107 

was  allowed  to  mess  about  with  saucepans  and  kettles, 
and  prepare  his  ow^n  broth  and  coffee.  Like  Louis 
XIII.  he  was  fond  of  falcons,  and  was  amused  to  see 
them  pick  to  pieces  the  poor  little  live  sparrows  that 
were  given  them  for  food. 

Not  that  he  was  absolutely  cruel.  But  he  was  of  a 
sluggish,  apathetic  temperament;  bored  to  death, 
even  at  this  early  age.  The  earnest  viciousness  of 
these  birds  of  prey  was  a  spectacle  that  roused  him 
from  his  dreamy  discontent;  captivated  his  attention; 
therefore  amused  him.  His  natural  insensibility  pre- 
ser\'ed  him  from  feelings  of  pain  or  pity  at  witnessing 
the  struggles  and  sufferings  of  the  poor  little  birds. 
Such  feelings  were  reserved  for  himself  when  any  mis- 
chance occurred  to  him.  And  the  boy  proved  father 
to  the  man. 

It  was  a  misfortune  for  Louis  XV.,  as  Madame  de 
Maintenon  observed,  "  that  he  should  not  have  learned 
obedience  as  a  subject  before  commanding  as  a  king." 
But  the  system  of  education  pursued  by  the  govern- 
ess, governor,  and  preceptor  appointed  by  Louis  XIV., 
consisted  in  gratifying  his  every  whim;  encouraging 
every  puerile  fancy,  without  any  attempt  to  inculcate 
moral  principles  or  noble  and  generous  sentiments 
True,  he  was  taught  to  say  his  prayers  regularly,  and 
to  attend  mass  daily:  but  the  first  was  a  mere  exercise 
of  the  memory,  and  almost  the  only  one  imposed  on 
it;  the  second,  simply  a  matter  of  habit  and  routine. 
One  can  imagine  that  he  had  heard  less  of  the  good- 
ness of  God  than  of  the  power  of  the  evil  one;  for, 
like  the  two  preceding  Louis,  he  stood  immensely  in 
fear  of  his  satanic  majesty. 

When  he  was  seven  and  a  half  years  old  the  Du- 
chesse  de  Ventadour  gave  up  her  charge  entirely  into 


loS  ^-^^   OLD  rAgIME. 

the  hands  of  the  Due  de  Villeroi.  The  regent  then 
appointed  the  Abbe  Fleury  confessor  to  the  king. 
Though  of  the  same  name,  the  abb6  was  not  related 
to  the  Bishop  of  Frejus.  He  had  been  sous  pr^cepteur 
to  the  Due  de  Bourgogne,  the  king's  father,  was  now 
near  eighty  years  of  age,  and  for  many  years  had  been 
wholly  devoted  to  literature.  His  "  History  of  the 
Church"  was  long  considered  the  best  work  that  had 
been  written  on  that  subject,  and  its  style,  though  un- 
pretending, natural  and  forcible.  According  to  Vol- 
taire, the  "  Preliminary  Discourses"  were  superior  to 
the  history,  being  "almost  worthy  of  a  philosopher." 
The  regent  said,  ''he  selected  him  to  take  charge  of 
the  king's  conscience  because  he  was  neither  Jansenist, 
Molinist,  nor  Ultramontain." 

He,  however,  lived  in  the  palace  secluded  in  his  own 
apartment,  his  duties  as  confessor  being  too  slightly 
onerous  to  interrupt  his  literary  pursuits.  It  was  cus- 
tomary for  the  little  king,  with  his  own  royal  hand,  to 
scrawl  out  for  himself  a  confession  of  the  peccadilloes 
of  which  he  considered  he  had  been  guilty.  This  was 
submitted,  first,  to  the  bishop,  who,  having  revised  it, 
sent  it  to  the  abbe.  After  looking  over  it,  some  words 
of  exhortation  were  addressed  to  the  youthful  peni- 
tent, and  absolution  was  given;  it  being  an  understood 
arrangement  that  no  questions  should  ever  be  put  to 
him. 

At  about  this  time  the  celebrated  preacher  Massillon 
was  delivering  those  eloquent  discourses  known  as 
the  "Petit  careme."  The  young  king  was  supposed 
to  learn  from  them  both  his  duty  towards  his  people 
and  what  his  own  private  conduct  should  be.  The 
popularity  of  these  discourses  was  immense.  They 
had  a  vogue  which  sermons,  as  sermons,  can  scarcely 


THE  PREACHING  OF  MASSILLON. 


109 


again  hope  to  attain.  "  First,  because"  (says  that  able 
writer,  M.  Bungener)  ''they  lack  almost  entirely  the 
Christian  flavor,  and  are  sermons  as  little  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  be.  Throughout  them  there  breathes  a  spirit 
of  morality,  pure  and  pleasing,  but  of  morality  only; 
of  faith  there  is  none.  Secondly,  philosophy  abounds 
in  them,  and,  as  far  as  it  goes,  it  is  good  and  wise 
philosophy;  but  it  is  weak,  and  may  with  too  much 
facility  be  made  to  adapt  itself  to  the  ideas,  the  inter- 
ests, the  passions  of  the  period." 

Voltaire  is  said  to  have  invariably  had  the  "  Petit 
careme"  lying  beside  him  when  writing.  He  speaks 
of  its  author  as  "  the  preacher  who  best  knows  the 
world.  A  moderate  and  tolerant  philosopher."  The 
philosophers  of  the  new  school,  with  Voltaire  at  their 
head,  vaunted  Fenelon  and  Massillon  as  being  sharers 
in  their  opinions  and  views.  The  first  for  attacking 
authority,  by  attacking  in  Telemachus  the  vices  of 
Louis  XIV.;  the  second  for  teaching  in  the "  Petit 
careme,"  and  in  the  name  of  God,  that  authority 
emanates  from  the  people. 

Like  his  famous  predecessor  Bourdaloue,  Massillon 
did  not  excel  in  funeral  orations.  His  great  gift  of 
eloquence  seemed  to  fail  him  when  lauding  the  imag- 
inary virtues  of  the  dead.  One  sentence  only  became 
celebrated,  "God  alone  is  great,  my  brethren."  They 
are  the  opening  words  of  the  funeral  oration  of  Louis 
XIV.,  and  were  no  doubt  effective;  those  to  whom  they 
were  addressed  having  accustomed  themselves  to  be- 
lieve that  the  king  alone  is  great.  For  as  Massillon, 
in  the  course  of  his  oration,  remarked,  "  His  subjects 
almost  raised  altars  to  him." 

During  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life,  in  the  re- 
tirement of  his  diocese  of  Clermont,  Massillon  occu- 


IIO  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

pied  himself  in  revising  his  sermons;  in  improving 
and  polishing  their  style;  and,  it  is  said,  bringing  them 
more  into  harmony  with  the  philosophical  ideas  then 
prevalent.  But  whether  or  not,  as  they  remain  to  us, 
they  are  models  of  eloquence.  Those  on  true  and  false 
glory  contain  lessons  that  Louis  XIV.  no  less  than  his 
successor  might  well  indeed  have  laid  to  heart.  An- 
other on  ennui  and  its  remedy,  had  its  counsels  been 
followed,  might  have  spared  Louis  XV.  many  an  idle 
hour  of  melancholy,  and  weariness  of  existence. 

If,  as  is  sometimes  asserted,  all  that  these  sermons 
contain  of  Christian  doctrine  is  in  the  text,  the  rest 
being  mere  moral  teaching;  it  must  yet  be  confessed 
that  it  is  moral  teaching  of  a  very  high  order,  and  that 
the  world  would  be  none  the  worse  if  this  mere  moral- 
ity, so  ably  taught,  were  more  generally  put  into 
practice.  Massillon  was  greatly  sought  after  in  so- 
ciety. Like  so  many  of  the  academic  forty,  he  was  a 
frequenter  of  the  salon  of  Madame  de  Lambert.  His 
reputation  was  great  as  a  man  of  genius;  and,  though 
inclining  to  the  new  school  of  thought,  in  urbanity 
and  politeness  of  manner,  he  was  a  follower  of  the  old 
court.  He  would  never  be  drawn  into  a  theological 
argument.  De  Richelieu  on  one  occasion  having  put 
some  malapropos  question  of  the  sort  to  him,  he  re- 
plied, "  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  talking  theology  ex- 
cept in  the  pulpit,  or  in  the  confessional.  You  can 
come  there." 

Massillon  once  preached  in  the  Royal  Chapel,  in  the 
presence  of  the  young  king,  his  governor,  and  the 
court,  on  the  text,  "  Blessed  art  thou,  O  land,  when 
thy  king  is  the  son  of  nobles."  A  text  which,  be  it 
remarked,  has  little  or  no  philosophy  or  Christian 
doctrine   in   it.     However,  the  Due  de  Villeroi,  who 


VILLEROrS  DEVOTION   TO  HIS  KING,        m 

was  not  only  devoted  to  his  king,  but  also  one  of  the 
most  obsequious  courtiers  of  the  old  school,  was  much 
affected  by  the  text.  Whenever  the  preacher,  in  the 
course  of  his  sermon,  repeated  it,  the  old  duke  wept; 
his  emotion  increasing  as  the  discourse  proceeded. 

At  last,  after  gazing  on  his  king  with  a  sort  of  rap- 
turous expression,  as  on  some  beautiful  vision,  while 
the  words  happy,  etc.,  were  pronounced,  he,  when 
they  were  concluded,  pressed  his  aged  hands  on  his 
eyes,  bowed  his  head  and  sobbed.  His  king,  mean- 
while, greatly  in  the  sulks  at  the  length  of  the  ser- 
mon, and  unable  also  to  comprehend  the  cause  of  his 
governor's  emotion,  looked  first  at  him,  then  at  the 
preacher,  with  that  air  of  proud  defiance  he  had  from 
his  childhood,  and  frowned  and  pouted  his  disgust 
with  both.  Woe  to  thee,  O  land,  etc.,  might  then 
have  been  presaged. 

Yet  one  must  feel  pity  for  this  orphan  child — so 
lonely,  silent,  and  melancholy.  It  is  not  surprising 
that  he  should  have  been  reserved  and  shy,  accus- 
tomed as  he  was  from  infancy  to  be  hedged  about 
with  the  same  stiff  etiquette  as  had  prevailed  in  the 
old  king's  court.  Doomed,  too,  to  the  companionship 
and  care  of  those  aged  persons,  with  whom  he  could 
feel  no  sympathy,  and  who  had  no  tie  of  relationship 
on  him,  to  call  it  forth.  He  was  fond  of  Fleury,  who 
was  amiable  and  gentle,  and  whose  character  inspired 
affection,  far  more  than  that  of  the  fussy  old  Due  de 
Villeroi,  though  Villeroi's  vigilance  was  believed — and 
by  Fleury  himself — to  have  thwarted  the  designs  that 
at  one  time  existed  against  the  king's  life. 

He  seems  to  have  associated  scarcely  at  all  with  the 
youthful  nobility;  who  as  court  pages,  or  attend- 
ants of  the  Dauphin,  were  usually  brought  up  with 


112  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

royal  children.  The  effeminate  Due  de  Gevres,  and 
Marquis  de  Sauvre  were  of  the  number.  They  were 
something  older  than  the  king,  but  their  influence  on 
him  was  an  evil  one,  as  was  also  that  of  the  Due  de 
Richelieu,  some  few  years  later.  Young  Louis,  how- 
ever, was  already  a  gambler,  and  expert  at  most 
games  of  hazard.  No  check  apparently  was,  in  this 
respect,  placed  on  him,  as  he  frequently  staked  con- 
siderable sums.  He  was  also  remarkably  eager  to  win 
money,  and  very  carefully  hoarded  his  gains. 

But  a  circumstance  occurred  at  this  time,  which 
temporarily  occasioned  the  young  monarch  much  pain 
and  annoyance.  There  had  been  a  short  war  wit^i 
Spain  after  the  discovery  and  breaking  up  of  the 
Duchesse  du  Maine's  Spanish  plot.  The  quarrel  be- 
ing settled,  the  regent  became  desirous  of  marrying 
one  of  his  daughters  to  the  Spanish  prince — Don  Louis, 
Prince  of  the  Asturias.  To  induce  the  king  of  Spain 
to  lend  a  favorable  ear  to  his  proposal,  the  regent  also 
suggested  a  marriage  between  the  youthful  Infanta 
and  Louis  XV.,  not  yet  twelve  years  old.  Philip  gave 
his  consent  on  certain  conditions,  of  a  religious,  or  ra- 
ther theological  character. 

Although  "very  French,"  and  always  yearning  for  his 
country — his  possession  of  the  Spanish  crown  never 
reconciling  him  to  exile — Philip  V.  had,  nevertheless, 
become  a  perfect  Spaniard  in  bigotry.  He  was  a  fu- 
riously zealous  supporter  of  the  presumptuous  pre- 
tensions of  the  Church  of  Rome  to  rule  the  conscience 
of  mankind;  and  he  could  imagine  no  more  pleasing 
spectacle  to  present  to  the  foreign  visitors  at  his  court, 
who  were  of  the  fold  of  the  faithful,  than  a  brilliant 
auto-da-fe,  for  which  there  was  always  a  supply  of  poor 
heretics  kept  on  hand. 


THE  BULLE    UNIGENITUS. 


"3 


This  he  thought  infinitely  better  than  the  ordinary 
bull-fights.  They  are  apt  to  inspire  disgust,  as  well 
as  feelings  of  pity  for  the  sufferings  of  the  animals 
engaged  in  them,  when  there  is  wanting  in  the  spec- 
tator the  Spanish  enthusiasm  that  overrules  all  other 
feeling.  But  the  burning  of  heretics  had  a  soothing 
effect  on  the  agitated  mind  of  Philip.  And  in  those 
good  old  times  it  was  to  many  devout  Catholics  as 
the  offering  up  to  heaven  of  a  sweet-smelling  sacrifice, 
with  the  certainty,  too,  that  it  was  looked  upon  there 
with  favor. 

Philip's  conditions,  then,  were — First,  that  the  Bulk 
Unigenitus,  which  had  for  many  years  been  the  fertile 
source  of  dissension  in  the  Galilean  Church,  should 
be  unanimously  accepted  by  the  French  clergy,  and 
registered  by  the  Parliament.  Secondly,  that  the  con- 
science of  the  young  king  should  be  confided  to  the 
direction  of  a  Jesuit  confessor — the  good  old  easy- 
going Abb6  Fleury  being  required  to  resign. 

This  second  condition  was  easily  complied  with. 
The  old  abb6  was  too  far  advanced  on  the  journey  of 
life  to  be  troubled  with  worldly  ambition.  He  gath- 
ered up  his  papers  and  parchments,  and  went  his  way 
contentedly  enough. 

But  the  Bulief*     Now,  this  Bulle    Unigenitus  had 

*  The  BulU  Unigenitus,  as  most  persons  know,  was  issued  by 
Pope  Clement  XI.  in  1713.  Its  object  was  to  condemn  a  small 
work,  entitled  "  Reflexions  Morales  sur  I'Evangile,"  published  so 
long  before  as  1671.  It  was  written  by  le  P6re  Quesnel,  of  the 
Oratoire.  The  work  had  had  great  success,  had  passed  through 
several  editions,  and  even  had  met  with  the  approval  of  the  great 
Bossuet.  It  was  popular  also  with  the  Jansenists.  This  being  the 
case,  the  Jesuits  began  to  suspect,  a  new  edition  being  called  for 
after  the  death  of  Bossuet,  that  the  work  must  contain  some  her^t- 


114  "^^^   ^^^  REGIME. 

occasioned  Louis  XIV.  infinite  worry  of  mind  during 
the  last  years  of  his  life,  and  the  clergy  of  France,  high 
and  low,  had  been  kept  in  a  continual  ferment  respect- 
ing it.  Many  had  been  the  heart-burnings  felt  by 
bishops  and  archbishops,  and  doctors  of  the  Sorbonne, 
as  on  the  one  side  it  was  decreed  to  accept  it,  on  the 
other  to  firmly  oppose  it.  In  short,  the  proverbial 
bull  in  a  china  shop,  however  viciously  determined  on 
overthrowing  and  demolishing  all  the  crockery  that 
came  in  his  way,  could  not  have  committed  more 
havoc  and  devastation  than  did  this  Papal  Bull,  in  the 
destruction  of  harmony  and  good  feeling  amongst  the 
clerical  party  and  Catholics,  good  and  bad  generally, 
who  composed  the  Galilean  church. 

However,  what  Louis  XIV.,  with  all  his  despotic 
authority,  could  not  accomplish;  what  the  cardinal 
archbishop  of  Paris  had  refused  the  king  on  his  death- 
bed— when  he  sent  to  request  him  to  accept  the  Bull, 
and  with  the  request  made  an  offer  of  reconciliation — 
Dubois,  influenced  solely  by  ambitious  views,  under- 
took to  effect.     And  he  succeeded. 

The  cardinal,  for  the  sake  of  giving  peace  to  the 
Church,  and  putting  an  end  to  the  irritating  theologi- 

ical  doctrines.  Disputes  arose  on  the  subject,  which  led  to  a 
revival  of  the  Jansenist  quarrels.  Louis  XIV.  then  requested  the 
sovereign  pontiff,  Clement  XL,  to  give  his  opinion  of  the  work. 
After  three  years'  consideration,  the  result  was  the  famous  Bulle 
Unigenitus,  condemning  loi  of  Quesnel's  propositions.  Among 
them  was  the  following :  "  One  should  not  be  deterred  from  doing 
one's  duty  by  the  fear  of  being  unjustly  excommunicated."  Of 
course  no  Pope  could  tolerate  teaching  so  heretical  as  that.  Le 
P6re  Quesnel  died,  very  poor  and  in  exile,  at  near  ninety  years 
of  age,  about  the  time  of  Philip's  demand  that  the  Bull  should  be 
accepted  in  France,  if  his  daughter  was  to  be  the  queen  of  Loui? 
XV. 


THE  MARRIAGE  ARRANGED.  ng 

cal  quarrels  which  this  abominable  Bull  had  given  rise 
to  throughout  France,  consented  to  accept  it.  Yet  he 
did  not  yield  it  a  hearty  consent,  but  merely  allowed 
conviction  to  be  forced  on  him  sorely  against  his  will. 
Other  recalcitrant  prelates,  however,  thought  it  right 
to  follow  the  cardinal  archbishop's  example.  If  in  the 
end  it  proved  that  the  Bull  had  only  been  *'  scotched," 
not  killed,  present  purposes  yet  were  served,  and, 
above  all,  the  worthy  Dubois  received  his  expected 
reward  from  Pope  Innocent  III. 

The  archbishopric  of  Rheims  was  offered  at  this 
time  to  Fleury,  with  the  intention  of  superseding  him 
as  preceptor;  his  growing  influence  with  the  king  dis- 
pleasing Dubois.  But  Fleury,  who  had  resigned  the 
bishopric  of  Fr6jus  for  that  appointment,  now  declined 
to  give  it  up  for  the  archbishopric.  Titles,  honors, 
and  large  revenues  were  no  temptations  to  him.  He 
loved  power,  no  doubt;  and  as  he  was  one  of  those 
who  believe  that  to  wait  and  watch  for  the  object  de- 
sired is  often  the  surest  way  of  obtaining  it,  the  power 
he  coveted,  in  due  time,  fell  into  his  hands,  when  he 
quietly  but  firmly  grasped  it. 

Philip,  however,  was  satisfied,  and  the  regent  had 
now  but  to  announce  to  the  young  king  the  marriage 
arranged  for  him,  and  to  obtain  his  consent  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  New  Cardinal  Archbishop. — An  Unwilling  Bridegroom. — A 
Sorrowful  Fate. — The  Chateau  de  Rambouillet. — The  Ram- 
bouillet  Manage. 

Bishop  Fleury,  preceptor;  the  Abbe  Fleury,  con- 
fessor; the  Marechal  Due  de  Villeroi,  governor;  and 
the  Due  de  Bourbon-Conde,  nominal  superintend- 
ent of  the  king's  education,  were  assembled  in  the 
great  hall  at  Vincennes,  the  king  being  seated  in  his 
chair  of  state,  to  receive  the  regent. 

He  entered  accompanied  by  Dubois,  whom  he  for- 
mally presented  to  the  king.  Then  informed  him  that 
to  the  zeal  of  the  Archbishop  of  Cambrai  he  owed  the 
tranquillity  of  his  kingdom;  also  the  peace  of  the 
Church  of  France — the  schism  that  had  so  long  di- 
vided it  being,  by  his  earnest  efforts,  happily  ended. 
"An  important  service  indeed,"  he  continued,  " for 
which  his  holiness  had  rewarded  the  archbishop  with 
a  cardinal's  hat." 

The  king  bowed,  but  made  no  reply.  The  old  mare- 
chal stood  beside  him,  as  stiff,  firm,  and  upright  as 
the  weight  of  his  eighty  years  allowed.  But  neither 
he  nor  the  Bishop  of  Frejus  appeared  to  notice  the 
inquiring  glances  directed  towards  them  by  the  young 
king,  when  the  regent  had  concluded  his  address. 
Accustomed  to  read  in  their  countenances  what  eti- 
quette prescribed  should  be  done,  he  supposed,  as  they 


AN  UNWILLING  BRIDEGROOM.  ny 

gave  no  sign  of  life,  that  the  right  and  proper  thing 
was  to  be  silent. 

The  regent  then  entered  on  the  subject  of  the  mar- 
riage. Instantly  young  Louis'  attention  was  roused. 
As  the  arrangements  respecting  it  were  explained  to 
him,  the  poor  boy's  dismay  increased.  The  idea  of  a 
wife  filled  him  with  terror.  The  etiquette  always  so 
persistingly  enforced,  he  at  once  cast  to  the  winds; 
and,  jumping  down  from  his  chair  of  state,  rushed  to 
his  preceptor.  Leaning  on  his  shoulder,  and  throwing 
his  arms  around  him,  he  wept  bitterly,  and  loudly 
complained  of  the  unkindness  of  the  regent. 

All  present  endeavored,  in  turn,  to  console  their 
young  monarch.  He  was  assured  that  the  marriage 
itself  was  a  far  distant  event;  that  his  assent  to  it  only 
was  required  at  that  time. 

"Come  now;  come  now,  my  master,"  said  the  old 
duke,  coaxingly;  "give  your  consent  freely.  You 
should  do  the  thing  with  a  good  grace,  my  master." 

At  length,  after  much  expostulation,  persuasion,  and 
entreaty,  the  bishop  obtained  from  him  a  tearful  and 
unwilling  "yes."  A  short  but  more  gracious  reply 
had  been  prepared  for  him,  with  the  view  of  sending 
it  to  Spain,  to  gratify  his  uncle,  Philip  V.  But  he 
refused  to  repeat  it,  and  escaped  from  his  tormentors 
to  indulge  his  sorrow  in  solitude. 

A  council  of  regency  was  held  the  next  day,  for  the 
purpose  of  receiving  the  king's  announcement  of  his 
marriage.  But  his  majesty's  repugnance  to  matri- 
mony appears  even  to  have  increased  in  the  interval. 
It  was  with  difficulty  he  was  prevailed  on  to  attend 
the  council;  and  when  there,  not  a  word  of  the  mes- 
sage from  the  throne  would  he  utter.  Silently  he  sat 
there,  poor   child,  the  tears  running  down  his  face. 


Il8  T^E  OLD  REGIME. 

And  his  lot,  no  doubt,  was  then  felt  by  him  to  be  cruel 
indeed;  sorrow  of  the  heart  in  those  early  years  is 
often  very  acute.  At  last  the  marechal  was  compelled 
to  speak  for  him,  and  to  inform  the  council  of  his 
majesty's  intention  to  unite  himself  in  marriage  with 
the  Infanta  of  Spain,  etc.,  etc. 

Still  it  was  necessary  he  should  notify  that  the  an- 
nouncement was  made  with  his  approval.  He,  how- 
ever, vouchsafed  no  reply  to  the  question;  and  the 
council,  like  the  regent  on  the  previous  day,  had  to 
be  content  with  a  reluctantly  whispered  utterance, 
supposed  to  be  "  yes." 

The  exchange  of  the  young  brides-elect  took  place 
some  months  afterwards  at  the  He  des  Faisans,  where, 
sixty-two  years  before,  was  held  the  famous  confer- 
ence between  Mazarin  and  Don  Haro,  which  preceded 
the  marriage  of  Louis  XIV.  with  the  Spanish  Princess 
Maria  Th6resa.  The  regent's  daughter,  Mdlle.  de 
Montpensier,  was  twelve  years  of  age;  the  Infanta, 
Maria  Anna  Victoria  only  three.  There  appears  to 
have  been  no  ceremony  of  betrothal.  The  king  would 
probably  have  stoutly  resisted  that,  as  an  attempt  to 
actually  marry  him. 

The  little  princess  was  taken  to  the  Chateau  de 
Rambouillet,  about  nine  leagues  from  Paris,  to  be 
brought  up  there,  under  the  surveillance  of  the  Com- 
tesse  de  Toulouse,  a  sister  of  the  Due  de  Noailles.  The 
Comte  de  Toulouse,  brother  of  the  Due  du  Maine,  had 
but  recently  declared  his  marriage  with  this  lady.  It 
seems  to  have  been  considered  a  mesalliance,  though 
the  Count  was  but  a  legitimated  prince.  At  all  events, 
Rambouillet  was  rather  looked  down  upon  by  Sceaux 
— so  far,  at  least,  as  the  Duchesse  du  Maine,  princess 
of  the  blood,  was  concerned.     But  the  Comtesse  was 


THE  RAMBOVtLLET  MANAGE. 


119 


younger  and  prettier,  which  displeased  the  duchesse. 
She  was  infinitely  more  charming,  too,  and  without 
that  great  lady's  pretension  to  the  reputation  of  a  wit 
and  woman  of  learning. 

The  park  and  forest  of  Rambouillet  were  of  great 
extent;  and  as  the  king  was  already  fond  of  the  chase, 
he  was  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  chateau.  His  youthful 
fianc/e  was,  no  doubt,  placed  there  on  that  account,  as 
well  as  because  the  home  of  the  Comte  de  Toulouse 
and  his  wife  was  one  of  conjugal  fidelity  and  happi- 
ness, of  which  instances  were  rare  indeed  in  the  society 
of  that  period. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Madame  de  Tencin. — Gambling  at  the  Hotel  Tencin. — A  Ter- 
rible Reputation. — "  Le  Grand  Cyrus," — "Le  Comtc  de 
Comminges." — A  Delighted  Audience. — Voltaire  on  his  Knees. 
— Destouches  and  Marivaux. — Veteran  Leaders  of  Society. — 
The  Literary  Menagerie. — Madame  de  Tencin's  Suppers. — Up 
to  the  Ankles  in  Mud. — Fontenelle's  Mistake. 

In  the  midst  of  fine  gardens,  adjoining  the  exten- 
sive ones  of  the  h6tel  of  the  wealthy  financier,  Samuel 
Bernard,  in  the  Place  des  Victoires,  there  stood,  at  the 
time  of  the  regency,  a  very  handsome  residence,  known 
as  I'Hotel  Tencin.  It  belonged  to  Guerin  de  Tencin, 
Archbishop  d'Embrun,  and  Charge-d'Affaires  of  the 
Church  at  Rouen.  To  these  high  ecclesiastical  dig- 
nities Tencin  had  been  recently  raised  by  the  new 
Cardinal  Archbishop  Dubois,  whom  the  regent  had 
made  first  Minister  of  State.  Few  are  said  to  have 
shown  less  respect  for  the  priestly  character  than 
Archbishop  Tencin.  But  he  was  a  man  of  consider- 
able talent,  and  his  arguments  had  gone  far  to  wring 
from  Cardinal  de  Noailles  an  unwilling  acceptance  of 
the  terrible  Bull;  therefore  his  election  by  Dubois. 

Madame  Alexandrine  Guerin  de  Tencin  did  the 
honors  of  her  brother's  hotel,  and  her  salon  was  one  of 
the  most  famous  of  the  regency  and  early  part  of  the 
reign  of  Louis  XV.  Imitating  the  great  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu  in  the  salon  of  Marion  de  I'Orme,  the  Car- 


GAMBLWO  AT  THE  HOTEL    TENCIN.         i^j 

dinal  Dubois  established  his  literary  police  in  the  salon 
of  Madame  de  Tencin. 

This  lady,  so  witty,  so  pleasing,  receiving  her  guests 
so  graciously,  yet  less  with  the  air  of  the  mistress  of 
the  house  than  with  a  certain  graceful  diffidence,  as  of 
a  sister  dependent  on  her  brother,  the  archbishop,  was 
one  of  the  most  finished  of  intrigantes.  Destined  from 
childhood  for  the  cloister,  she  was  brought  up  in  the 
Convent  of  Grenoble,  and  entered  on  her  novitiate  at 
the  usual  age;  but  her  repugnance  to  monastic  life  was 
so  intense  and  persistent  that,  instead  of  taking  the 
veil,  she  was  allowed  to  leave  the  convent  and  become 
chanoinesse  of  Neuville,  near  Lyons.  Soon  after,  she 
appeared  in  the  fashionable  world  of  Paris,  and  fig- 
ured very  prominently  at  the  Court  of  the  regent, 
amongst  such  noted  women  as  the  Marquises  and 
Comtesses  de  Prie,  de  Parabere,  du  Deffant,  d'An- 
tragues,  and  others.  As  amie  intime  of  Dubois,  she 
had  been  the  means  of  securing  preferment  for  her 
brother,  who  had  himself  found  favor  with  the  regent, 
in  the  quality  of  political  spy.  Both  brother  and  sis- 
ter, as  well  as  their  patron  Dubois,  had  profited  largely 
by  the  Systeme  Law. 

There  was  yet  another  Hotel  Tencin,  with  fine 
grounds  reaching  to  the  gardens  of  the  Capucine 
Convent — the  space  now  occupied  by  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix.  This  was  the  property  of  Madame  de  Tencin, 
and  before  her  brother's  elevation  her  salon  was  held 
there.  While  Law  was  Comptroller-general,  gam- 
bling went  on  at  this  hotel  to  an  immense  extent.  For- 
tunes changed  hands  there  more  than  once  in  the 
course  of  an  evening,  and  in  passing  from  one  to  an- 
other, a  large  share  often  fell  into  the  lap  of  the  lady 
who  presided. 


122  THE   OLD  JiACIME. 

She  speculated  largely,  and  risked  her  valuable 
shares  in  the  Royal  Bank,  apparently  with  extraordi- 
nary recklessness;  but  her  lucky  star  was  always  in 
the  ascendant,  thanks  to  the  private  information  she 
received  from  headquarters.  Montesquieu  and  Vol- 
taire were  less  fortunate  when  they  yielded  to  the  gen- 
eral allurement.  This  makes  them  so  bitter  when 
referring,  not  to  Madame  de  Tencin,  in  whose  salon 
they  were  often  to  be  found,  but  to  the  famous  Sys- 
teme  itself. 

Madame  was  desirous  of  being  reputed  firm  in  her 
friendships,  but  a  terrible  enemy.  The  nickname  of 
"  nun  unhooded  "  had  been  applied  to  her,  and  it  was 
said  that  "were  it  to  her  interest  to  poison  a  friend, 
she  would  do  it;  but  in  the  politest  and  gentlest  way 
possible."  Strange  tales,  too,  were  afloat  of  dark  deeds 
done  in  her  hotel.  But  we  know  that  it  was  the  fash- 
ionable mania  of  the  beau  monde  of  the  regency  to  ex- 
aggerate its  vices;  as  though  the  round  unvarnished 
tale  of  its  doings  were  not  vicious  enough.  So  that 
we  are  compelled  to  believe  that  that  libertine  circle, 
like  a  certain  great  potentate,  was  not  so  black  as  it 
was  painted;  and  painted  by  itself.  At  all  events, 
Madame  Tencin  was  rich  at  the  time  now  referred  to. 
That  would  have  absolved  her,  whatever  misdeeds  she 
had  been  guilty  of;  though  society  could  in  any  case 
hardly  cast  stones  at  her — nor  did  it,  for  her  salon  was 
one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  period. 

Like  that  of  Madame  de  Lambert  it  was  considered 
a  salon  of  good  literature;  but  more  philosophical, 
more  liberal.  Montesquieu,  Fontenelle,  Le  Marquis 
de  Pont-de-Veyle,  and  his  brother  le  Comte  d'Argen- 
tal  (the  last  two  her  nephews),  were  of  the  number  of 
her  guests.     She  had  written  some  three  or  four  short 


IE  COMTE  DE  COM Af INGE S.  123 

tales,  or  romances  of  a  sentimental  kind.  All  of  them 
at  the  time  of  their  appearance  were  favorably  re- 
ceived, both  by  her  own  circle  and  by  the  fashionable 
world  generally.  "Le  Comte  de  Comminges"  had 
the  greatest  reputation.  La  Harpe  has  considered  it 
not  inferior  to  "  La  Princesse  de  Cleves"  of  Madame 
de  La  Fayette.  Indeed,  the  writings  of  those  ladies 
were  bound  up  together  in  an  edition  issued  in  Paris 
in  1786  or  1787. 

Those  who  have  dipped  into  those  lackadaisical  tales, 
will  surely  be  of  opinion  that  they  are  worthily  unit- 
ed. One  may  be  led  on,  if  interested  in  the  period, 
to  wade  through  the  ten  portly  volumes  of  Mdlle.  de 
Scud6ry's  "Grand  Cyrus;"  being  certain  that  while 
accomplishing  that  feat,  a  considerable  knowledge  of 
the  social  life  of  the  early  half  of  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury has  been  acquired,  and  acquaintance  made  with 
most  of  the  celebrities  of  that  epoch.  But  the  sickly 
sentimentality  of  La  Fayette  and  Tencin  is  too  over- 
powering. Should  a  dose  of  it  ever  be  taken,  another 
of  sal  volatile,  as  a  corrective,  should  always  be  ready 
at  hand,  for  of  volatility  there  is  less  than  none  in 
"  Les  Chagrins  d'Amour,"  "  Le  Comte  de  Com- 
minges," etc. 

Nevertheless,  the  last-named  story  is  said  to  have 
once  had  a  singular  effect  on  a  crowded  salon  of  ladies 
and  philosophers  assembled  to  hear  Madame  de  Ten- 
cin read  it.  The  lady,  herself  calm  and  unmoved, 
read  on  to  the  end  of  the  tale,  her  well-modulated 
voice  giving  due  emphasis  to  its  heart-rending  love 
passages;  her  audience,  meanwhile,  being  profoundly 
silent.  She  felt  the  compliment  and  exerted  herself 
to  deserve  it. 

As,  w^ith  deep  pathos,  she  pronounced  the  last  words, 


124  "THE  OLD  REGIME. 

she  raised  her  eyes  from  her  manuscript,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  grateful  thanks,  expecting  to  meet  those 
of  her  friends  suffused  with  tears.  What,  then,  was 
her  astonishment,  her  indignation,  to  find  that  scarcely 
an  eye  was  open  !  The  numerous  assembly  was  for 
the  greater  part  wrapped  in  peaceful  slumber.  The 
few  that  were  not,  were  feebly  struggling  to  keep  open 
the  lids  that  Somnus  was  gradually  closing;  or  were 
endeavoring  to  hide  with  their  handkerchiefs  the 
shame  of  their  irrepressible  yawns.  Amusement  pre- 
vailed with  Madame  de  Tencin  over  her  first  feeling 
of  indignation;  and,  meanwhile,  the  cessation  of  the 
dulcet  tones  that  had  had  so  soothing  an  effect,  to- 
gether with  her  ringing  laugh,  aroused  the  sleepers. 

"Charming  story!"  cried  one.  "Charming!  Ma- 
dame de  Tencin,  it  is  truly  charming,"  chimed  in 
another. 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said.  "  I  shall  re-christen  this 
charming  story  and  call  on  all  present  to  subscribe  to 
the  propriety  of  its  new  title — *  A  Remedy  against 
Sleeplessness.' " 

"  Ah  !  Madame  de  Tencin,"  replied  Montesquieu, 
"  I  perceive  that  you  are  alluding  to  me.  Allow  me 
to  assure  you,  allow  me  to  persuade  you,  that  if  my 
eyes,  as  you  may  have  remarked,  were  momentarily 
closed,  they  were  not  closed  in  sleep." 

"  Of  course  not !"  cried  the  rest  of  the  company; 
"  Madame  de  Tencin  cannot  think  so." 

"  Now,  don't  look  incredulous.  Believe  me  it  was 
merely  to  allow  the  mind,  by  the  exclusion  of  out- 
ward objects,  to  dwell  upon  and  enjoy  more  com- 
pletely those  exquisitely  impassioned  ideas  with  which 
you  have  endowed  your  hero,  and  the  beauty  of  the 
language  in  which  he  expresses  them." 


VOLTAIRE   ON  HIS  KNEES.  125 

"  Of  course  !"  again  echoed  the  company. 

"  Usbeck,"  *  she  replied,  laughingly,  "  shall  make  it 
the  subject  of  another  Persian  letter.  He  shall  de- 
clare that  it  would  have  pleased  him  much,  but  for  its 
overpowering  effect  on  his  eyelids.  And  let  all  here 
confess  the  same.  Now  confess,  confess,  and  I  will 
pardon  you  all,  and  the  archbishop  shall  give  you 
absolution.  I  except  Fontenelle,  his  eyes  were  open, 
if  his  ears  were  closed.  And  so  were  those  of  my 
fair  Haid^e,  t  though  I  imagine  the  Chevalier  J  worked 
that  miracle." 

All  the  wits  and  rising  literary  men  of  the  time  were 
diligent  frequenters  of  the  salon  of  Madame  de  Tencin. 
Voltaire,  of  course,  had  gone  on  his  knees  to  her.  It 
was  his  habit,  from  youth  to  old  age  (Grimm  says, 
"His  breeches  always  bore  marks  of  it"),  to  cast 
himself  prostrate  before  beauty  and  wit,  whether 
combined  or  separate.  If  either  was  wanting,  he  im- 
agined it  present,  as  in  those  strange  lines  to  Mdme. 
du  Chdtelet: 

*•  Ecoutez,  respectable  Emilie, 
Vous  etes  belle  ;  ains;  done  la  moiti6 
Du  genre  humain  sera  votre  ennemie."§ 

A  pure  poetical  fiction,  and  a  ludicrous  one  to  those 
acquainted  with  this  colossal  belle. 

Destouches,  the  dramatist,  who  had  at  least  achieved 

*  One  of  the  personages  of  Montesquieu's  "Lettres  Persanes" 
— A  satire  on  the  regency. 

f  The  beautiful  Circassian,  Mdlle.  Alss6. 

X  Her  lover,  the  Chevalier  d'Aidye — Chevalier  of  the  Order  of 
Malta. 

§  Listen,  admired  Emilie:  you  are  beautiful,  half  the  human 
race  will  therefore  be  your  enemies. 


126  THE    OLD  REGIME. 

one  sensational  success  in  his  comedy  of  "  Le  Glo- 
rieux,"  was  a  constant  visitor  of  this  literary  saloti. 
Marivaux  also,  2^ protege  oi  Madame,  ever  torturing  his 
wits  to  make  a  telling  epigram  of  every  sentence  he 
uttered. 

To  her  efforts,  in  some  degree,  was  owing  a  certain 
short-lived  vogue  which  his  pieces  occasionally  ob- 
tained. They  are  bombastic,  and  affected  in  style. 
Nevertheless,  Marivaux  evidently  was  an  observer  of 
society.  His  conceit  and  pretentiousness  are  scarcely 
less  evident.  Yet  one  may  detect  in  his  plays  the  pre- 
vailing feeling  of  the  time,  in  the  effort  he  makes  to 
show  that  the  reputed  best  sentiments  of  human 
nature  are  but  vanity  ;  that  those  who  put  faith  in 
them  are  the  dupes  of  their  own  hearts;  all  that  seem- 
ingly is  so  estimable  in  the  character,  so  praiseworthy 
in  the  conduct,  being  a  mere  mask  to  conceal  selfish 
ends. 

Madame  de  Tencin  was  particularly  zealous  in  her 
endeavors  to  forward  the  literary  and  social  career  of 
those  young  men  who  made  their  d^but^  as  it  was 
termed,  in  her  salon.  It  was  a  custom  of  that  time 
for  ladies  who,  in  early  years,  had  filled  a  distin- 
guished position  in  society,  to  seek  to  continue  their 
influence  beyond  that  melancholy  period  (in  France 
the  terrible  fortieth  year)  when  the  last  flickering 
gleams  of  youth  and  beauty  are  fading  away.  They 
erected  for  themselves  a  new  empire,  as  it  were — 
formed  a  new  and  attractive  salon^  and  as  they  ad- 
vanced in  years,  became  the  oracles  of  polite  society. 
The  youthful  nobility  and  young  men  of  fortune 
frequented  their  circles  "  to  form  themselves,"  as 
the  phrase  went;  as  also  to  amuse  themselves.  To 
succeed  in  the  good   graces  of  one  of  these  veteran 


THE  LITERARY  MENAGERIE.  \2J 

leaders  of  the  beau  monde,  was  to  secure  "  a  brevet  of 
elegance,  and  knowledge  of  the  world." 

Fran9ois  Marie  Arouet,  so  annoyed  at  not  being 
bom  a  gentleman,  as  Voltaire*  acquired  in  the  salons 
the  manners  of  one,  and  very  early,  "affected  the 
gentleman  of  letters."  There  were  others — Piron 
and  Crebillon,  for  instance — to  whom  the  tavern  was  a 
more  congenial  resort.  The  latter,  rough  and  bear- 
ish; the  former,  witty,  but  of  low,  convivial  tastes, 
and  often  launching  an  epigram  at  this  fashionable 
world  of  learning.  Equally  would  they  have  felt  out 
of  place  in  the  elegant  salon  of  Madame  de  Tencin, 
who  was  one  of  those  women  who  took  precedence  in 
literary  circles.  Notwithstanding  her  sentimental 
novelettes,  she  was  "»«  bel esprit  profond'* — far  more 
vivacious  and  brilliant  than  Madame  du  Deffant,  and 
having  none  of  her  real  or  affected  fits  of  ennui. 

Singularly  enough,  however,  Madame  de  Tencin 
gave  her  distinguished  circle  of  wits  and  men  of  let- 
ters the  name  of  the  menagerie.  Stranger  still,  she 
put  her  learned  animals  into  a  sort  of  livery.  And 
they  did  not  regard  it,  apparently,  as  infra  dig.  to 
accept  from  her  every  year,  as  their  New-Year's  gifts, 
three  ells  of  velvet  each,  for  new  small-clothes.  Be- 
sides, she  gave  them,  three  times  a  week,  and  all  the 
year  round,  a  splendid  supper — a  supper  that  was 
renowned,  even  in  those  days  of  recherche's  petits-souperSy 
and  pure,  sparkling,  and  iced  champagne. 


*  The  name  of  Voltaire  is  probably  derived  from  a  very  small 
property — la  ferme  de  Veautaire — in  the  district  of  Asni^res-sur- 
Oise,  about  ten  leagues  from  Paris,  aud  which  Voltaire  inherited 
from  a  cousin ;  changing  Veautaire  into  Vokaire,  for  euphony's 
sake,  when  assuming  the  name. 


128  THE    OLD  REGIME. 

Montesquieu  and  Fontenelle  she  distinguished  as 
her  "  animals  par  excellence^  Fontenelle  appears  to 
have  supped  everywhere.  He  dined  every  Thursday 
at  Madame  de  Lambert's,  elsewhere  probably  on  other 
days,  and  took  his  "  English  tea"  (then  beginning  to 
be  fashionable)  in  any  salon  where  he  found  it  intro- 
duced. He  allowed  nothing  in  the  world  to  ruffle  the 
placidity  of  his  temper,  and  carefully  guarded  against 
any  disturbing  emotions. 

Once  a  friend  died  suddenly,  sitting  beside  him. 
He  quietly  desired  his  servants  to  remove  him,  and 
there  was  an  end  of  it.  By  thus  preserving  the  even 
tenor  of  his  life,  he  coaxed  on  a  weak  constitution, 
year  after  year,  until  he  had  eked  out  a  hundred.  He 
was  already  as  deaf  as  a  post,  but  it  amused  his  mind 
to  see  what  was  going  on  if  he  could  not  hear;  so  that 
there  was  no  more  constant  frequenter  of  the  salons 
than  "  le  vieux  Fontenelle."  The  one  misfortune  of 
his  deafness  was,  that  he  always  fancied  he  or  his 
works  were  the  subject  of  conversation,  and  it  was 
fatiguing  to  make  him  hear  and  believe  that  he  was 
under  a  mistake. 

Mairan,  being  of  the  company  assembled  at  Madame 
de  Tencin's  one  evening,  was  relating  a  story  of  a 
peasant  on  a  friend's  estate  who  had  greatly  bewailed 
the  death  of  a  fellow-workman  who  had  fallen  into  a 
ditch  and  was  suffocated.  "  The  mud  was  so  deep," 
he  said,  "  that  it  reached  nearly  to  his  ankles." 
"  Surely,  then,"  answered  the  master,  "  he  could  have 
stepped  out  of  it,  or  you  might  have  assisted  him  to 
do  so."  "  Surely,  as  you  say,  I  might,"  replied  the 
man,  "  if  he  had  not  fallen  into  it  head-foremost." 
The  peasant's  naive  remark  on  his  companion's  mis- 
fortune raised  general  laughter.     Fontenelle^  however, 


FONTENELLE'S  MISTAKE. 


129 


very  gravely  said,  "  I  perceive  that  M.  Mairan  is  talk- 
ing of  my  works." 

This  renewed  the  laughter.  "  My  *  Treatise  on  the 
Worlds '  does  not  please  him,  I  suppose,"  he  said, 
speaking  very  sulkily. 

La  Motte  undertook  the  task  of  explaining  to  him 
the  subject  of  conversation;  but,  after  vociferating  for 
some  time  in  his  ears,  scarcely  convinced  him  that  he 
was  in  error,  and  that  his  well-deserved  reputation 
was  by  no  means  being  called  in  question  by  the 
friends  and  the  admirers  of  his  genius,  who  then  sur- 
rounded him. 

Had  it  been  otherwise,  he  would  not  have  allowed 
their  censure  to  fret  him,  though  he  thought  it  right 
to  make  known  his  suspicions. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Exuberant  Joy. — Dining  in  Public. — Public  Rejoicings. — Loyalty 
still  Flourishes. — The  Mar^chal  de  Villeroi. — When  Louis 
XIV.  was  Young. — The  Majestic  Perruque. — A  Grand  Seigneur 
of  the  Old  Regime. — Fireworks  of  the  Eighteenth  Century. — 
The  Young  King's  Greeting. — The  Grand  Bow  Louis  XIV. — 
Villeroi  Dismissed. — Un  Abbe  Elegant. — The  Bishop  Retires 
to  Issy. — Coronation  of  Louis  XV. — Death  of  Dubois. — 
Dubois'  Immense  Wealth. — Political  Lessons. — The  Regent 
First  Minister. — Death  of  the  Regent. 

There  are  crowds  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  in  the  Rue 
St.  Antoine  and  the  Place  du  Carrousel  One  might 
fancy  that  the  whole  population  of  Paris  was  massed 
together  in  that  vast  multitude  pressing  around  the 
Tuileries  and  filling  every  open  space  near  it.  But 
the  throng — and  a  joyous  throng  it  seems — still  is 
increasing;  every  narrow,  winding  street  and  crooked, 
dark  alley  of  this  dear,  delightful,  dirty,  old  city 
sending  forth  its  contingent  to  add  to  the  number. 

An  Englishman  well  might  wonder  whence  this 
swarming  multitude  came;  where  this  vast  assemblage 
of  human  beings  found  shelter.  For  Paris  was  never 
allowed  to  straggle,  like  London;  in  all  directions, 
with  its  one  or  two-storyed  houses.  It  had  to  shoot 
upwards,  and  as  its  population  increased,  to  put  story 
upon  story  to  the  extent  of  eight  or  ten.  Some  say, 
even  one  above  that;  perched  aloft  like  a  sky-raker 
above  the  gallant- top-royal  sail  of  a  big  ship,  and 
forming  almost  the  only  breezy  dwelling-places  old 
Paris  could  boast  of 


DINING  IN  PUBLIC,  I3I 

Evidently  the  disasters  of  the  bygone  year — disasters 
so  great  that  even  Dubois  has  been  compelled  to  say, 
"  Something  must  be  done  for  the  people" — have  hap- 
pily been  followed  by  an  event  of  unusual  interest; 
some  alleviation  of  the  penury  that  prevails;  some 
promise  of  returning  national  prosperity,  to  call  forth 
such  general  rejoicing.  In  the  exuberance  of  their 
joy,  there  are  some  simple  folks  who  warmly  embrace 
any  stranger  they  meet,  as  though  suddenly  encoun- 
tering long-lost  friends. 

Many  a  pretty  girl,  too,  you  observe,  as  she  passes 
along,  is  startled  by  an  unexpected  embrace  from 
some  gay,  gallant  fellow.  Not  seldom  the  pretty  girl 
resents  this  freedom  with  a  vigor  that  makes  the 
offender's  ears  tingle,  and  deservedly  draws  upon 
him  the  laughter  and  witty  jests  of  his  companions. 
But  it  is  a  good-tempered  crowd,  brimful  of  life  and 
spirits. 

The  Caf6  Procope  and  Caf6  de  la  R6gence  are  both 
full  of  guests,  and  here,  as  elsewhere,  all  is  gaiety  and 
mirth.*  But  except  at  these  cafes,  and  among  the 
noisy  itinerant  vendors  of  cocoa,  pastry,  and  sweets, 
little  business  is  doing.  Paris  has  heartily,  and  with 
its  usual  abandon^  given  itself  up  to  pleasure.  But  if 
the  shops,  for  the  most  part,  are  closed,  many  of  the 
shopkeepers  have  brought  out  their  tables  and  chairs, 
and  are  taking  their  dinner  al  fresco,  any  friend  chanc- 
ing to  pass  being  pressed  to  sit  down  and  share  the 
meal  with  them. 

This  open-air  feasting  is  attended  with  difficulties, 
for  side-walks  exist  not;  the  streets  are  very  narrow, 

*  These  caf6s  of  the  regency  were  the  first  caf^s  established  in 
Paris,  and,  like  the  London  taverns  of  that  date,  were  much 
frequented  by  literary  men. 


132  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

and  slope  down  on  either  side  towards  the  gutter  in 
the  centre.  But  the  will  to  dine  and  be  hospitable  in 
public  being  there,  the  way  to  do  so  is,  by  some  means, 
found  out.  ''  Liber td,  Sgalit^,  fratei-nit^,''  generally  pre- 
vail, and,  practically,  to  a  much  greater  extent  than 
probably  they  will  should  those  words,  now  flutter- 
ing on  some  people's  lips,  ever  become  the  national 
motto. 

Uninterruptedly  these  public  rejoicings  have  been 
going  on  for  the  last  fifteen  days.  The  Church  has, 
of  course,  borne  its  part  in  them;  preaching  endless 
thanksgiving  sermons,  and  chanting  numberless  Te 
•Deums.  However,  it  is  beginning  to  be  the  general 
opinion  that  there  has  been  rejoicing  enough.  It  is 
not  wise  to  take  an  overdose,  even  of  a  good  thing. 
So,  in  the  evening,  all  is  to  terminate,  with  illumina- 
tions and  fireworks,  and  a  grand  fete  at  the  Tuileries 
Better  than  all,  the  enthusiastic  peop'le  are  in  hopes  of 
getting  just  a  glimpse  of  their  king.  The  old  duke — 
whose  attachment  to  his  youthful  sovereign  has  secured 
for  himself  the  attachment  of  the  people — will  no 
doubt  bring  him  out  on  the  balcony  to  gladden  the 
eyes  of  his  faithful  lieges. 

As  for  himself,  poor  boy,  the  ceremonial,  the  etiquette, 
and  the  fuss  that  surround  him,  weigh  like  a  night- 
mare on  his  spirits.  He  will  neither  appear  in  the 
balcony,  nor  be  present  at  the  fete  if  he  can  have  his 
own  way.  He  would  rather  be  milking  his  cow,  or 
digging  his  garden.  Nature,  indeed,  seems  to  have 
intended  that  a  spade  should  be  put  in  his  hands  when 
Fortune,  in  her  lamentable  blindness,  made  the  mis- 
take of  handing  him  a  sceptre.  But  the  people, 
always  so  hopeful,  are  looking  forward  to  the  reign  of 
Louis  XV.  for  relief  from   those  burdens   which  the 


THE  M A  RICH  A  L  DE  VILLEROL  133 

regency  was  to  have  removed.  His  majority  is  nigh 
at  hand.  But  a  boy  of  thirteen  cannot  of  course  be 
exf>ected  to  take  sole  command  of  the  helm  of  state; 
until  he  can  do  so,  the  people  have  faith  in  the 
guidance  of  Villeroi  and  Fleury. 

Philosophy  as  yet  has  appeared  only  in  the  salonSy 
where  it  is  expanding  under  the  fostering  care  of  fine 
ladies.  Loyalty  still  flourishes  in  France,  and  has 
found  earnest  expression  in  the  enthusiasm  with  which 
the  nation  has  celebrated  the  young  king's  restoration 
to  health.  Equally  did  it  appear  in  the  grief  and 
anxiety  generally  exhibited  while  it  seemed  probable 
that  his  illness  would  terminate  fatally.  Ardent  sup- 
pliants crowded  the  churches,  and  the  nation  cried  to 
heaven,  "Spare  our  king!"  He  is  spared;  and  the 
reaction  of  boundless  joy  has  followed  the  anxious 
fluctuations  of  hope  and  fear. 

As  usual,  suspicions  of  poisoning  were  rife.  They 
rested  on  the  head  of  Dubois,  who  had  suggested  the 
removal  of  the  royal  patient  from  Vincennes  to  more 
airy  quarters  at  Versailles.  The  suspicion  of  an  evil 
intention  may  have  been  groundless,  but  as  he  at- 
tributed only  base  motives  to  others,  he  could  not 
complain  if  he  himself  was  misjudged.  Had  the  king 
died,  it  is  believed  that  Dubois  could  not  have  escaped 
with  life  from  the  vengeance  of  the  infuriated  people. 
It  is  singular  that  neither  the  regent  nor  any  member 
of  the  government  contributed  anything  towards  the 
expenses  of  the  public  festival.  The  Due  de  Villeroi, 
from  his  own  private  purse,  shared  them  with  the 
municipality  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  even  defrayed 
the  cost  of  the  oft-repeated  prayers  of  the  Church  and 
the  Te  Deum. 

The  old  marechal.   Due  de  Villeroi,   un  trh  grand 


134 


TitE  OLD  REGIME, 


seigneur^  in  his  day,  a  very  handsome  man,  and  still 
(remember  he  has  passed  his  eightieth  year)  of  noble 
presence,  is  in  manner  a  perfect  specimen  of  the  gal- 
lant manners  of  the  old  court.  His  father  was  gover- 
nor to  Louis  XIV.,  which  was  chiefly  that  monarch's 
reason  for  appointing  the  son,  who  was  brought  up 
with  him,  to  the  same  post  in  the  household  of  his 
successor.  The  old  duke  is  not  so  contemptible  a  per- 
sonage as  the  slanderous  pen  of  Saint-Simon  repre- 
sents him.  He  is  probably  somewhat  vainglorious, 
and  his  heart  swells  with  a  pardonable  pride  when  he 
tells  of  that  brilliant  time  when  he  and  Louis  XIV. 
were  young.  He  perceives  that  a  great  change  has 
taken  place,  but  he  perceives  no  improvement;  and 
his  views  are,  in  that  respect,  shared  by  many. 

He,  too,  comforts  himself  with  the  hope  that  much 
good  is  laid  up  for  France  in  the  womb  of  the  future. 
But  his  hope  differs  from  that  of  the  nation,  in  that  it 
is  based  on  his  own  constant  efforts  to  train  up  his 
youthful  charge  in  the  traditions  of  the  grand  reign  of 
the  Grand  Monarque,  with  a  view  to  a  return  to  the 
"  Systeme  Antiquaille." 

How  keen  was  the  dear  old  marechal's  anxiety  dur- 
ing the  illness  of  young  Louis,  who  it  seems  was  suf- 
fering from  a  bad  sore  throat.  (It  would  be  called 
diphtheria  in  more  enlightened  days.)  The  marechal 
undertook  the  office  of  head  nurse,  and  had  the  broths, 
etc.,  made  only  by  confidential  people  of  his  own. 
Yet,  with  all  his  vigilance,  Madame  de  Parabere  con- 
trived to  slip  in  and  give  the  sick  child  some  marma- 
lade, which  appears  to  have  really  done  him  good.  It 
was  in  grateful  remembrance  of  this  and  various  other 
surreptitious  little  presents  of  bonbons  and  cakes,  that 
Louis  XV.  was  always  so  gracious  to   Madame   de 


THE  MAJESTIC  PERRUQUE,  135 

Parabere;  even  when  the  court  circle  looked  coldly 
upon  her,  because,  having  lost  favor,  places  and  pen- 
sions were  no  longer  obtainable  through  her  influ- 
ence. 

But  the  mardchal  is  now  as  jubilant  as  but  a  few 
weeks  ago  he  was  despondent;  and  in  doing  the 
honors  of  this  grand  fHe  in  celebration  of  the  king's 
recovery,  acquits  himself  with  admirable  grace.  His 
wrinkled  brow,  erst  so  careworn,  is  now  smooth,  fair, 
and  polished;  a  full  score  of  years  seem  to  have  passed 
away  from  it.  He  would  have  liked  to  resume  the 
**  majestic  perruque  of  Louis  XIV." — as  De  Tocque- 
ville,  sighing  over  its  abandonment,  regretfully  calls 
it.  But  he  knows  that  the  ladies  would  laugh  at  him, 
and  the  graceless  young  wits  make  epigrams  on  the 
majestic  wig.  So  he  contents  himself  with  the  paltry 
perruque  of  diminished  proportions  now  in  vogue; 
thoroughly  powdered  at  the  top,  and  the  ends  grace- 
fully tied  up  in  a  bag  behind.  And  well  it  becomes 
his  venerable,  yet  still  handsome  face. 

His  velvet  coat  is  elaborately  embroidered,  and  the 
lappels  of  his  long  satin  vest,  the  same.  His  ruffles 
and  the  ends  of  his  cravat  are  oi  point  d'Alen^on  of  the 
finest  texture.  A  diamond  star  forms  the  button  in 
his  hat,  and  his  sword  has  a  diamond-set  hilt.  Dia- 
monds fasten  at  the  knee  his  puckered  satin  breeches; 
diamond  buckles  his  red-heeled  shoes;  and  the  grand 
crosses  of  the  Orders  of  the  St.  Esprit  and  St.  Louis 
glitter  in  rubies  and  diamonds  on  his  breast. 

Stately  and  erect  stands  the  old  marechal — a  per- 
fect picture  of  a  grand  seigneur  of  the  Old  Regime.  He 
leads  the  young  king  by  the  hand  to  look  at  the 
illuminated  gardens,  and  the  river  lighted  up  by  some 
hundreds  of  illuminated  boats,  ranged  on  either  side 


136  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

of  the  stream.  "Artificial  swans  and  other  aquatic 
birds  float  on  the  water."  "  Several  whales,  launched 
from  behind  screens  or  sheds  on  the  shore,  spout  fire 
as  they  enter  the  stream." 

A  grand  display  of  fireworks  closes  \\iq  fHe.  From 
drawings  of  set  pieces  used  on  this  and  other  oc- 
casions, one  must  infer  that  the  French  pyrotechnists 
of  that  day  excelled  in  their  art.  Yet  facilities  for 
doing  so  were  few,  compared  with  those  afforded  by 
the  chemical  discoveries  and  mechanical  improve- 
ments of  recent  times.  It  is  probable,  however,  that 
transparent  paintings  were  frequently  employed  to 
form  an  effective  centre  to  a  border  of  fire.  But  what- 
ever they  were,  they  gave  immense  satisfaction  to  the 
people,  who,  attracted  by  the  object  of  the  fete  in 
question,  came  from  far  and  near  to  see  them. 

Never,  perhaps,  at  any  other  period  of  his  life,  was 
Louis  XV.  so  truly  "  the  well-beloved  "  of  the  nation. 
How  dense  the  crowd!  What  an  interest  the  good 
people  of  Paris  take  in  their  king!  Not  only  in  the 
streets  and  in  the  vicinity  of  the  palace;  but  at  every 
house,  heads,  two,  three,  in  rows,  ranged  one  above 
another,  peer  forth  from  every  window.  The  top  of 
every  wall  is  taken  possession  of,  and  the  roofs  of  the 
houses  are  crowded.  No  slight  projection  where  a 
foot  can  be  placed,  no  piece  of  cornice  which  a  hand 
can  grasp,  but  finds  some  foolhardy  enthusiast  willing 
to  risk  life  and  limb  to  seize  upon  it — fortunate,  in- 
deed, if  the  only  result  of  his  scramble  be  that  he  sees, 
what  so  frequently  is  seen  by  scrambling  in  a  crowd — 
nothing  at  all  of  what  he  looked  for. 

"There's  the  old  marechal!"  exclaim  several  voices; 
the  closely-packed  mass  of  human  beings  beginning  to 
move  excitedly. 


THE    YOUNG  KING'S  GREETING.  137 

"Ah!  he's  bringing  us  the  little  king!"  is  shrieked 
in  a  woman's  voice. 

"  Devil  take  the  women!  what  are  they  doing  here?" 
says  somebody,  striving  to  elbow  the  woman  out  of 
her  place,  in  order  to  fill  it  more  worthily  himself. 
He  sees  that  the  marechal  is  leading  the  king  into  the 
balcony. 

Yes,  both  are  there,  hand  in  hand,  representing  the 
threshold  of  life  and  the  brink  of  the  grave.  Louis 
is  a  handsome  boy;  rather  small  for  Ills  age,  as  was 
Louis  XIV.,  who,  from  about  his  thirteenth  year, 
sprang  up  apace — as  this  boy,  probably,  will  do.  He 
looks  well  in  his  white-plumed  hat  and  embroidered 
blue  velvet  dress.  His  beautiful  hair  flows  in  its 
natural  curls,  unconfined  by  black  riband  and  bag, 
and  free  from  the  starch-powder  with  which  old  and 
young  are  now  so  lavishly  dusted.  His  jewels  and 
grand  crosses  make  a  glittering  show.  He  wears,  you 
perceive,  the  "  Sancy"  in  his  hat.  Its  scintillation  is 
wonderful,  as  the  flickering  lights  in  the  balcony  and 
the  gleams  from  the  illuminated  trees  fall  upon  it. 

The  people  greet  their  young  monarch  with  hearty 
enthusiasm.  The  air  rings  with  a  cry  of  delight  from 
thousands  of  voices.  It  is,  doubtless,  a  gladdening 
sound  to  the  heart  of  the  old  duke.  But  its  sudden- 
ness and  wildness  startle  the  child.  He  seems  to  be 
appealing  to  his  governor;  then,  advancing  a  step, 
raises  his  hat  with  much  grace.  (Villeroi  has  taught 
him  the  grand  bow  Louis  Quatorze.) 

Louder,  far  louder  than  before,  is  the  people's  re- 
sponsive burst  of  joy.  The  duke  drops  the  king's 
hand.  Louis,  released,  seizes  the  opportunity  of 
escaping,  with  a  rush,  from  the  terrible  din.  Though 
somewhat  disconcerted,  the  duke  turns  with  a  benig- 


I3S  TttE  OLD  REGIME. 

nant  air  towards  the  admiring  multitude,  and,  with  a 
certain  dignified  condescension,  that  should  surely 
atone  for  the  want  of  ceremony  in  royalty's  departure, 
raises  his  hat,  bends  slightly  forward,  then  decamps 
to  discover  the  hiding-place  of  his  king. 

The  king  has  taken  refuge  in  the  Salle  des  Gardes, 
and  is  reposing  in  a  chair  in  a  quiet  corner.  The 
noise  and  excitement  of  the  almost  delirious  multi- 
tude surrounding  the  Tuileries  so  agitated  him  that 
he  was  seized  with  giddiness  in  the  head.  He  de- 
clared "  That  he  couldn't  stay  there."  However,  he 
was  sufficiently  himself  again  in  the  course  of  half  an 
hour  to  gratify  the  earnestly-vociferated  prayer  of  the 
frantic  people  that  the  marechal  would  again  gladden 
their  eyes  with  a  sight  of  their  king.  Yielding,  there- 
fore, to  these  coaxing  words — "  Master,  dear  master  ! 
come  now,  show  yourself  just  for  a  moment,  only  one 
moment,  to  your  good  people  of  Paris,  who  love  you 
so  much,  and  are  so  longing  to  see  you  !" — he  gave 
his  hand  to  his  governor,  stepped  out  on  the  balcony, 
and  received  the  reward  of  his  condescension  in  an- 
other uproarious  ovation. 

Not  long  after  the  Marechal  de  Villeroi  had  given 
so  signal  a  proof  of  his  loyalty  and  attachment  to  the 
young  king,  he  was  dismissed  to  his  government.  His 
exaggerated  fears  lest  the  king  should  be  poisoned, 
made  him  unwilling  to  allow  even  the  regent  to  see 
him  at  any  time,  unless  he  were  present  at  the  inter- 
view. The  regent,  much  annoyed,  resented  this,  and 
insisted  on  his  leaving  the  apartment.  Later  in  the 
day,  an  officer  arrived  with  a  lettre-de-cachet,  when,  to 
his  extreme  mortification,  the  old  duke  was  obliged  at 
once  to  step  into  the  carriage  waiting  for  him,  and  pro- 
ceed to  Bayonne — there  to  remain  until  further  orders. 


THE  BISHOP  RETIRES  TO  ISSV.  139 

The  Due  de  Charost  was  appointed  to  succeed  to 
the  post  of  governor.  But  the  king  took  Villeroi's 
departure  greatly  to  heart.  Whatever  he  felt,  he 
rarely  exhibited  any  violent  emotion.  On  this  occa- 
sion, he  laid  his  face  against  the  back  of  a  chair  and 
silently  wept.  He  would  not  eat,  he  would  not  speak. 
When  entreated  to  go  out,  or  to  amuse  himself  in 
some  way,  he  refused,  and  remained  awake,  weeping 
and  sobbing,  the  whole  night  through.  Still  further 
to  increase  his  distress,  he  learned  the  next  morning 
that  his  preceptor  also  had  left. 

Between  the  duke  and  the  bishop  there  existed  a 
friendship  of  very  long  standing.  It  dated  indeed 
from  the  time  when  Fleury — a  remarkably  handsome 
man,  with  a  fondness,  which  with  excellent  taste  he 
ever  retained,  for  ladies'  society — was  favorably  re- 
ceived as  "un  add/  /Ugan/"  and  a  desperate  flirt,  in  the 
boudoir  circle  of  Madame  de  Villeroi.  She  was  con- 
siderably younger  than  the  duke.  But  of  course  her 
flirting  days  were  now  over.  Not  exactly  (so  scandal 
whispered)  were  those  of  Fleury.  Yet  though  he  did 
not  now  flirt  with  the  duchess,  they  remained  very  firm 
friends.  It  was  probably,  therefore,  as  much  for  her 
sake  as  for  the  duke's,  that,  at  the  time  of  their  ap- 
pointment as  preceptor  and  governor,  he  had  entered 
into  a  mutual  promise  with  the  duke  that  if  either  was 
dismissed  from  his  post  by  the  regent,  the  other  should 
resign. 

Consequently,  as  soon  as  the  duke  was  exiled,  the 
bishop  hastened  away  to  his  little  estate  at  Issy,  thence 
intending,  probably,  to  send  in  his  resignation.  He 
took  no  leave  of  his  royal  pupil,  as  he  may  have  fore- 
seen that  the  separation  would  be  but  a  short  one. 
And  just  so  it  proved.     Louis  regretted  his  fussy,  but 


I40  "m^  OLD  REGIME. 

kind  old  governor;  but  Fleury,  so  amiable  and  esti- 
mable, if  far  too  indulgent,  had  stood  towards  him  in 
the  place  of  a  parent,  and  had  gained  his  affection  as 
such.  His  grief,  his  despair,  was  so  great  when  in- 
formed that  he  was  absent,  and  did  not,  it  was  sup- 
posed, intend  to  return,  that  he  was  pacified  only  by 
the  immediate  despatch  of  a  messenger  to  Issy,  with 
a  letter  from  himself,  requiring  the  bishop  immedi- 
ately to  come  back  from  Vincennes. 

Of  course  he  did  not  refuse  obedience  to  the  royal 
command;  and  friendship — even  for  an  old  flame — 
could  not  have  asked  it  of  him.  The  preceptor  was 
received  by  his  pupil  with  open  arms,  and  with  signs 
of  joy  more  evident  than  had  ever  been  observed  in 
him  before.  The  Due  de  Charost  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  making  himself  agreeable  to  the  young  king, 
by  appearing  to  share  in  his  joy,  and  the  banished 
duke  had  the  mortification  of  knowing  that  he  was  not 
so  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  his  king  as  he  had 
fondly  supposed. 

The  regent,  from  his  mode  of  life,  had  become  more 
and  more  indisposed  to  be  troubled  with  cares  of 
state.  Therefore,  shortly  after  he  had  roused  himself 
to  resent  with  so  much  harshness,  though  naturally 
disposed  to  leniency,  the  foolish  suspicions  of  the  old 
marechal,  he  appointed  Dubois  first  minister — in  fact, 
gave  up  the  regency  into  his  hands,  that  he  might  be 
more  fully  at  liberty  to  devote  himself  entirely  to  his 
pleasures.  From  the  despotic  manner  in  which  the 
cardinal  immediately  began  to  exercise  his  newly- 
acquired  power,  it  was  very  soon  perceived  that  his 
ambitious  aims  were  not  yet  satisfied;  and  that  he 
would  not  scruple,  in  order  successfully  to  realize 
them,  to  sacrifice  the  regent  himself. 


DEA  TH  OF  DUBOIS,  I4I 

On  the  26th  of  October,  1722,  Louis  XV.  was 
crowned  at  Rheims,  with  much  pomp  and  ceremony. 
Comte  d'Argenson,  at  this  time,  compared  him,  in  ap- 
pearance, to  Cupid.  Yet  Cupid  enveloped  in  a  gold- 
embroidered  ermine-lined  mantle  of  state,  with  the 
crown  of  Charlemagne  on  his  head,  and  bearing  a 
sceptre  and  "hand  of  justice,"  would  surely  be  rather 
overdressed — his  usual  costume  being  so  scanty;  rarely 
anything  more  than  a  pair  of  wings,  a  quiver  full  of 
arrows,  and  his  bow.  Dubois  made  a  great  figure 
on  this  occasion;  taking  his  place  in  the  cavalcade 
amongst  the  highest  nobles  in  the  land.  On  the 
22d  of  February  following,  the  king,  being  then  thir- 
teen years  and  twelve  days  old,  a  lit- de-justice  was  held, 
and  he  was  publicly  declared  of  age. 

Dubois,  it  would  seem,  needed  only  opportunity  to 
prove  himself  capable  of  greater  things  than  hitherto 
he  had  been  supposed  to  be.  The  regent's  power  at 
an  end,  he  gave  promise  of  becoming  a  most  able 
minister  of  state,  and  desirous  of  adapting  his  con- 
duct to  the  dignity  of  his  position.  But  a  long  course 
of  dissipation  had  undermined  his  constitution,  and 
he  died  on  the  loth  of  August,  1723,  in  his  sixty-sev- 
enth year,  a  few  hours  after  enduring  the  agony  of  a 
painful  operation.  He  either  refused  the  sacraments 
of  the  church,  or  on  some  frivolous  pretext  eluded 
partaking  of  them. 

The  wealth  amassed  by  Dubois,  during  his  short 
tenure  of  power,  was  enormous.  Besides  a  large  sum 
of  money  in  his  strong  box,  he  possessed  costly  fur- 
niture, and  a  quantity  of  gold  and  silver  plate  of  the 
most  artistic  workmanship;  precious  stones  of  rare 
beauty  and  value;  sumptuous  equipages,  and  (then 
most  envied  of  all,  by  the  nobility)  the  largest  and 


142 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


finest  Stud  in  France.  Rich  abbayes  and  lucrative  ap- 
pointments and  places,  both  civil  and  ecclesiastical — 
lavishly  bestowed  on  himself — brought  him  an  im- 
mense revenue,  in  addition  to  his  large  pension  for 
promoting  the  political  views  of  England  with  refer- 
ence to  France.  He  had,  doubtless,  dreamed  of  living 
yet  many  years  to  enjoy  this  vast  wealth,  and  of  out- 
vying, in  ostentatious  splendor  and  the  magnitude  of 
their  power,  both  Richelieu  and  Mazarin. 

This  was  at  a  time  when  the  State,  still  suffering 
from  the  ruinous  results  of  the  "  Systeme  Law,"  could 
neither  pay  the  salaries  of  its  officers,  nor  the  annui- 
ties of  its  pensioners.  But  having  provided  liberally 
for  himself,  Dubois  had  some  project  in  petto,  which 
was  to  restore  the  credit  of  the  government,  and  grad- 
ually to  refill  its  coffers. 

Meanwhile,  he  had  very  judiciously  arranged,  for 
the  instruction  of  the  young  king,  a  series  of  what 
may  be  termed  political  lessons.  They  took  place  at 
Versailles,  three  times  a  week;  and,  to  impress  upon 
him  their  importance,  a  certain  etiquette  was  pre- 
scribed for  them.  An  arm-chair  was  placed  for  his 
majesty  at  the  centre  of  a  table.  On  his  right  sat  the 
regent;  on  his  left  Monsieur  le  Due.  Opposite,  on  a 
folding  seat,  sat  Dubois,  the  Bishop  of  Frejus  on  one 
side,  the  Due  de  Charost  on  the  other,  also  seated  on 
folding  chairs. 

But  it  was  difficult  to  awaken  an  interest  in  so  dry  a 
theme,  in  the  mind  of  a  youth  who  had  not  been  trained 
in  habits  of  application,  and  who  was  besides  indo- 
lently disposed.  He  listened  to  the  subject  laid  before 
him  with  an  air  of  lazy  resignation  to  his  fate,  occa- 
sionally glancing  at  Fleury,  as  though  seeking  in  his 
benignant  face  consolation  and  sympathy,  to  enable 


THE  REGENT  FIRST  MINISTER.  143 

him  to  hold  out  to  the  end  of  the  session.  He  asked 
for  no  explanation,  yet  gave  no  signs  of  understand- 
ing, or  indeed  of  heeding  the  questions  discussed. 
Nevertheless  it  is  probable  that  the  political  acumen 
which  he  is  said  to  have  exhibited  in  after  years,  when 
amusing  himself  with  his  secret  diplomacy,  may  have 
been  acquired  at  this  time. 

The  regent,  according  to  some  writers,  regretted 
Dubois,  others  say  that  he  jested  when  he  heard  of  his 
death,  exclaiming,  "  So  the  devil  has  carried  off  my 
jester  at  last!"  But  his  own  health  was  in  a  very  pre- 
carious state,  his  face  had  become  of  a  purple  red,  a 
sort  of  stupor  often  overcame  him,  and  his  head  was 
bowed  forward  on  his  chest.  Everything  so  disgusted 
him,  that  he  was  scarcely  capable  of  either  fretting  or 
jesting. 

He,  however,  assumed  Dubois'  post  of  first  minis- 
ter; made  an  effort  to  reform  his  mode  of  life;  and,  in 
order  not  to  set  a  bad  example  to  the  young  king, 
who  now  sojourned  more  frequently  at  the  Tuileries, 
he  even,  we  learn,  went  so  far  in  his  reform  as  to  con- 
tent himself  with  but  one  maitresse-en-titre,  Madame 
d'Antragues — in  the  Roman  states,  Duchesse  de  Fa- 
lari.  She  was  the  wife  of  a  financier,  to  whom  Cle- 
ment XI.,  for  some  service  of  a  financial  nature,  had 
given  the  title  of  Duke. 

But  the  excesses  of  the  petits-soupers  still  went  on, 
and  the  regent  drank  the  usual  quantity  of  his  favorite 
vin  d'Ai.  His  physicians  warned  him  that  dropsy  or 
apoplexy  would  be  the  result  of  his  intemperance, 
"Not  dropsy,"  he  said,  "it  is  too  lingering;  death 
stares  one  in  the  face  too  long,  and  I  had  hoped  to 
meet  death  from  a  cannon-ball  on  the  battle-field." 
And  a  death  as  sudden  was  granted  him.     Sitting  be- 


f44  ^-^^   ^^^  REGIME. 

side  the  Duchesse  de  Falari,  he  suddenly  exclaimed, 
"  Madelon  !  Madelon  ! — save  me  !"  and  fell  dead  at 
her  feet. 

No  physician  was  at  hand.  A  lackey  in  attendance 
opened  a  vein  with  a  penknife;  but  the  regent  never 
spoke  more.  As  he  had  desired,  death's  shaft  had 
been  swift  and  sure.  Thus  passed  away,  in  his  forty- 
ninth  year,  Philippe  Due  d'Orleans — a  man  of  great 
abilities,  amiable  disposition,  and  much  personal  fas- 
cination; but  whose  shame  or  misfortune  it  was  to 
disbelieve  in  the  existence  of  virtue,  and  thus  to  be- 
come a  corrupter  of  the  morals  of  tne  age,  by  the  evil 
example  of  a  depraved  life  and  the  parade  of  atheistic 
principles. 

The  young  king  regretted  the  regent,  and  always 
spoke  of  him  with  affection;  and  many  of  those  who 
most  lamented  the  criminal  weakness  of  his  character 
were  nevertheless  his  sincerely  attached  friends. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Monsieur  le  Due— Taking  Time  by  the  Forelock.— The  New 
Limits  of  Paris.— The  Street  Lamp  Invented. — Dark  Streets 
of  Old  Paris. — Crossing  the  Gutters. — What  became  of  the 
Children. — The  Liveliest  City  in  Europe. — Shopkeepers'  Sign- 
boards.—The  Lieutenant  of  Police.— The  Terrible  "  Damn6." 
— Police  Espionage. — A  Keeper  of  Secrets. 

Building  in  Paris,  beyond  certain  limits,  had  been 
rigorously  prohibited  during  the  last  reign.  An  incli- 
nation to  expand  beyond  them  had  been  resolutely 
checked  by  the  decree  of  1672.  The  old  walls  were 
then  thrown  down,  and  the  space  assigned  by  the 
great  Louis  as  the  extreme  fixed  boundary  of  the  city 
and  its  faubourgs  was  defined  and  planted.  Thus  far, 
and  no  farther,  should  the  good  people  of  Paris  be 
allowed  to  extend  their  dwellings.  Upwards  they 
might  rise — as  far  as  Heaven's  portal,  if  they  could 
reach  it;  but  not  a  foot  nearer  the  sacred  precincts  of 
Versailles  should  they  be  allowed  to  approach. 

During  the  regency  the  prohibition  was  not  strictly 
enforced.  Probably  it  was  looked  upon  as  altogether 
obsolete,  when,  most  unexpectedly,  the  edict  was  re- 
newed at  the  instance  of  the  Due  de  Bourbon.  M.  le 
Due  was  now  first  minister,  though  possessing  no 
especial  capacity  for  the  post.  He  was  without  expe- 
rience, and  known  only  for  his  rancorous  hatred  to- 
wards the  Due  du  Maine,  and  the  deep  interest  he  had 
taken  in  the  Systeme  Law.  He  had  supplanted  the 
duke,  and  by  the  Systeme  had  added  to  his  slender 


146  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

means  some  two  or  three  millions  of  livres;  he  also 
raised  the  amount  of  a  small  income  to  a  very  hand- 
some revenue  by  exchanging  Law's  paper  for  fine  es- 
tates. There  was  a  ferocity  in  his  disposition  that 
yielded  only  to  the  influence  of  his  mistress,  Madame 
de  Prie,  who  governed  him  absolutely. 

Having  a  fancy  to  govern  France  also,  she  de- 
spatched her  lover,  as  soon  as  it  was  ascertained  that 
the  regent  was  actually  dead,  to  seek  the  king,  in  order 
to  request  for  himself  the  vacant  post  of  first  minister. 
The  young  monarch,  who  was  engaged  with  his  pre- 
ceptor, was  greatly  embarrassed  by  the  request,  and 
consulted  the  countenance  of  Fleury  for  his  answer. 
But  the  bishop  neither  by  word  nor  look  expressed 
approval  or  disapproval.  His  face  wore  its  usual 
calm  and  benignant  expression.  His  eyes  remained 
half  closed,  as  though  but  partly  awakened  from  a 
comfortable  snooze,  and  desiring  only  to  renew  it. 
The  king  may  have  understood  this  as  a  nodding  as- 
sent, as  he  at  once,  without  speaking,  nodded  an 
affirmative  to  M.  le  Due's  application. 

Most  conveniently,  the  commission  was  ready, 
merely  requiring  to  be  filled  up;  possibly  it  had  been 
intended  for  Fleury  himself.  However,  it  was  signed 
on  the  instant,  and  the  Due  took  the  customary  oath; 
then  departed  to  congratulate  his  pretty  mistress  on 
the  triumph  of  their  coup-de-main,  and  on  her  wisdom 
in  advising  him  to  take  time  by  the  forelock. 

It  had  been  thought  probable  that  the  Due  de  Char- 
tres,  the  regent's  son,  might,  on  his  father's  death,  be 
roused  from  his  devotions  by  ambition  and  the  desire 
of  succeeding  to  his  post.  But  the  young  duke  (he 
was  now  twenty-four)  continued,  as  Due  d'Orleans,  to 
lead  the  same  life  of  seclusion,     Some  years  before^ 


THE  NEW  LIMITS  OF  PARIS. 


147 


seduced  by  the  regent's  example,  he  had  temporarily 
shared  in  his  and  his  roues'  excesses.  But,  disgusted 
by  their  extreme  licentiousness,  he  withdrew  from  the 
court,  and  led  the  life  of  a  penitent,  controlled  entirely 
by  Jesuit  priests.  The  death  of  his  father  produced 
no  change  in  his  conduct  or  views.  He  could  scarcely, 
however,  be  considered  sane,  being  under  the  influence 
of  some  extraordinary  delusions.  The  wits  gave  him 
the  name  of  "  D'Orleans  de  Ste.  Genevieve." 

In  what  way  neglect  of  the  restrictions  on  building 
beyond  the  old  limits  of  Paris  concerned  M.  le  Due  or 
Madame  de  Prie  does  not  appear.  But  as  self-interest 
was  the  guiding  star  of  both,  it  may  be  imagined  that 
the  value  of  property  belonging  to  one  or  the  other 
was  jeopardized  by  it.  That  which,  owing  to  laxity 
during  the  regency  in  respect  of  new  buildings,  had 
already  been  done  by  those  who  sought  quietude  and 
a  breath  of  fresh  air — then  only  obtainable  in  Paris  in 
the  gardens  and  grounds  of  convents  and  the  hotels 
of  the  nobility — could  not  be  easily  undone.  New 
limits  were  therefore  marked  out  and  planted,  soon 
after  Louis  XV.  was  declared  of  age — and  Paris  was 
allowed  to  spread,  some  hundred  yards  or  so,  in  the 
various  directions  already  built  upon. 

Paris  at  this  time — 1724 — was  noisier  and  dirtier 
than  in  the  preceding  century.  The  streets  had  no 
names  affixed  to  them  until  1729.  Some  unusually 
conspicuous  signboard,  a  neighboring  convent,  or  the 
hotel  of  a  grandee,  served  to  distinguish  those  which 
were  less  generally  known  than  the  streets  specially 
inhabited  by  certain  trades — such  as  the  Rues  de  la 
Tisseranderie,  de  la  Ferronnerie,  Quai  des  Orfevres, 
etc.  Numbering  the  houses  was  not  attempted  for 
many  a  long  year  after;  but  every  house  had  a  sign 


148  THE   OLD  REGIME, 

of  some  sort,  which  answered  the  purpose  of  a  num- 
ber. 

In  1745  the  Abbe  Matherot  de  Preguey  invented  the 
street-lamp.  Until  then,  an  occasional  tallow  candle, 
placed  in  a  lantern  and  suspended  aloft  some  twenty- 
five  feet  above  the  roadway,  was  the  only  light  the 
municipality  vouchsafed  to  guide  the  footsteps  of  be- 
lated citizens  over  the  marshes  and  quagmires  of  the 
dusky  streets.  And  even  these  candles,  however  far 
they  might  throw  their  feeble  beams,  and  shine,  as 
Portia  says,  like  "  a  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world," 
could  not  always  be  depended  upon.  They  were  often 
puffed  out  when  the  wind  was  strong;  and  sometimes 
a  thief  (in  the  candle)  guttered  them  out.  The  com- 
pany of  lantern-bearers  was  not  then  thought  of,  much 
less  established;  so  that,  unless  the  midnight  wanderer 
had  his  own  private  lanterns  and  bearers,  as  many  per- 
sons had,  or  carried  a  lantern  himself,  what  a  sad  pre- 
dicament he  must  have  been  in  ! 

To  heap  the  agony  still  higher,  imagine  the  rain 
coming  heavily  down.  That,  of  course,  would  put 
out  the  candles.  Some  one,  perhaps,  may  reply,  "  No 
one  in  his  senses  would,  in  that  case,  go  out  on  foot." 

True;  but  rain  often  comes  on  unexpectedly.  Paris, 
too,  was  becoming  exceedingly  old.  Many  of  its  di- 
lapidated wooden  houses  with  plastered  fronts — datmg 
not  less  than  two  hundred  years  back — appeared  to  be 
on  the  point  of  falling.  With  every  fall  of  rain  there 
came  crumbling  down  a  portion  of  this  frontage — to 
the  great  danger,  and  frequently  great  damage,  of 
passers-by.  Deaths  from  street  accidents  were  not  un- 
frequent.  But  they  were  little  heeded  by  the  police, 
and  rarely  was  any  enquiry  made  concerning  them. 

The  danger  was  increased  when  darkness  and  rain 


CROSSmc    THE   GUTTERS.  149 

came  on;  the  more  so  as  the  only  means  for  carrying 
ofif  the  rain  from  the  house  was  by  projecting  spouts 
from  the  roof  and  from  every  story.  These  numerous 
cascades  formed  together  a  powerful  cataract,  while 
the  central  gutter  would  often  be  swollen  into  a  rapid 
rivulet,  or  even  a  river,  carrying  before  it  the  accumu- 
lated dirt  of  months.  In  the  daytime  several  planks 
fastened  together  would  be  thrown  over  the  stream, 
forming  a  sort  of  rude  and  ready  bridge.  Where  these 
were  not  placed,  there  was  no  help  for  either  lady  or 
gentleman  indisposed  or  unable  to  wade  across,  but 
to  be  carried  over  the  stream  on  the  back  or  in  the 
arms  of  some  dirty,  sturdy  fellow,  always  in  waiting, 
and  willing  to  perform  this  service  for  two  or  three 
sous, 

Boileau  Despr6aux,  in  his  "  Embarras  de  Paris,"  had 
little  praise  to  bestow  on  the  gay  city  in  1660.  Du- 
fresny  and  Montesquieu,  sixty  years  later  on,  in  the 
same  satirical  vein,  make  their  Siamese  and  Persian 
speak  no  less  unfavorably  of  it.  Saint-Foix,  Duclos, 
Mercier,  Barbier,  and  other  writers,  even  to  the  dawn 
of  the  revolutionary  times,  take  up  the  theme  in  a 
similar  strain. 

To  be  freed  from  squalor  and  pestilence — to  become, 
in  its  outward  aspect,  a  cleanly,  healthy  city,  as  well 
as,  socially,  a  rich,  gay,  and  delightful  one — monastery 
walls  had  yet  to  be  demolished,  and  the  rule  of  the 
Bourbon  kings  of  France  to  end. 

Notwithstanding,  the  population  of  Paris  had  in- 
creased. But,  as  observed  by  the  Marquis  de  Mira- 
beau  (father  of  the  great  orator,  who  had  so  many 
schemes  for  regenerating  France,  but  not  one  for  man- 
aging his  household),  what  became  of  the  children  ? 
— so   few   of   them   ever   were    seen.     The   mortality 


150  THE  OLD  RAgIME. 

amongst  children  was,  no  doubt,  fearful  in  those  pent' 
up  streets,  where  every  noisome  trade  was  carried  on 
with  impunity;  one  of  the  most  thriving,  and  as  offen- 
sive as  any,  the  tallow-chandler's,  being  everywhere 
in  full  work.  Still,  few  young  children  were  seen,  be- 
cause all  who  could  afford  the  expense  had  their  infants 
reared  in  the  country.  The  necessity  for  doing  so  then, 
if  the  parents  studied  their  health,  originated  the  cus- 
tom that  yet  survives,  though  the  necessity  for  it  has 
passed  away. 

But  the  population  of  Paris  was  often  considerably 
increased  by  immigrants.  What  names,  anything  but 
French,  are  now  borne  by  some  of  the  old  families 
of  France  ? — Italian,  German,  Polish,  English,  Irish, 
Spanish.  There  was  something  attractive  in  the  old 
city,  in  spite  of  its  many  shortcomings;  and  those  who 
settled  in  it  speedily  became  Parisians,  both  in  their 
habits  and  feelings.  On  Sundays  and  fete  days  they 
left  the  close  streets,  and  took  their  pleasure  in  the 
various  gardens  and  places  of  amusement  beyond  the 
city  limits,  or  barriers.  The  air  is  light  and  stim- 
ulating there.  It  has  a  pleasant  effect  on  the  spirits, 
similar  to  that  of  good  champagne,  only  far  more 
abiding. 

The  sight  of  the  offensively  dirty  streets  by  day, 
their  gloom  and  danger  at  night,  might  well  have 
deterred  intending  settlers  from  taking  up  their  abode 
in  them,  and  have  repelled  foreign  visitors  from  Paris. 
But  from  the  time  of  the  regency  foreign  visitors 
flocked  to  it,  and  it  was  reputed  the  liveliest  city  in 
Europe. 

One  must  remember  that  the  nights  were  not  always 
dark;  that  a  torrent  was  not  always  rushing  down 
from  the  tall,  dilapidated  dwellings,  or  a  gulf  stream 


SffOPXEEPERS'  SIGNBOARDS.  151 

always  rolling  through  the  grand  central  gutter.  The 
silvery  moonbeams  sometimes  peered  down  into  the 
ins  and  outs  of  the  nine  hundred  mazy  streets,  invest- 
ing them  with  an  air  of  mystery  and  romance. 

The  numerous  signboards  had  then  a  singular  effect. 
Many,  indeed,  were  not  boards  at  all;  but  figures  of 
men  and  women  and  animals,  or  of  such  objects  as- 
the  trader  dwelt  in.  St.  Anthony  and  the  pig,  at  the 
pork-butcher's,  was  a  frequent  and  appropriate  sign, 
rudely  carved,  or  brilliantly  daubed.  But  whatever 
the  sign,  it  was  thrust  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
house,  every  shopkeeper  striving  for  prominence.  In 
the  flickering  light  of  the  moon  these  signs — for 
instance,  some  tall,  stately  "Justice,"  with  scales, 
denoting  that  good  weight  and  good  measure  were 
dealt  out  there;  some  dignified  St.  Anthony;  "the 
good  woman,"  without  her  head;  or  a  cavalier  with 
drawn  sword — often  proved  objects  of  terror  to  the 
timid,  and  to  those  who  were  strangers  in  the  land. 
They  were  the  continual  cause  of  squabbles,  though 
with  little  or  no  result,  between  the  tradespeople  and 
the  police;  their  intrusion  on  the  narrow  space  of  the 
streets  often  making  it  difficult  for  carriages  to  pass 
each  other. 

One  feels  almost  surprised  to  hear  that  there  was  a 
police,  the  need  of  reform  being  so  glaring,  and  the 
utter  neglect  of  every  means  for  effecting  one,  equally 
so.  Yet  the  police  was  a  very  respectable  force,  as 
far  as  numbers  went;  highly  trained  too,  and  remark- 
ably vigilant.  The  head  of  it,  the  Lieutenant  of 
Police,  was  always  a  man  of  distinction.  To  fill  the 
post  with  ability,  no  ordinary  qualifications  were 
needed;  and  generally  the  right  man  seems  to  have 
been  found  for  it,  and  to  have  acquitted  himself  of 


152  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

his  duties  con  amore;  the  changes  being  fewer  in  this 
office  than  in  any  other  in  the  government. 

But  of  all  who  filled  the  post  of  Lieutenant  of  Police, 
the  man  whom  nature  seems  specially  to  have  destined 
for  it  was  Marc  Rene,  Comte  d'Argenson.  He  was 
appointed  to  succeed  La  Reynie,  in  1699,  by  Louis 
XIV.,  and  held  the  office  until  17 18,  when  he  resigned. 
The  system  of  secret  police  organized  by  him  (his 
thousands  of  invisible  agents  being  of  both  sexes,  and 
of  every  station  of  life)  was  considered  so  perfect  by 
his  able  successors,  Herault,  Berryer,  Sartines,  Le 
Noir,  and  De  Crome,  by  whom  it  was  continued  until 
the  eve  of  the  Revolution,  that  they  could  find  nothing 
to  add  to  or  take  from  it,  that  did  not  in  some  way 
mar  its  perfection — so  cleverly,  wheel  within  wheel, 
was  it  regulated,  like  a  wonderful  piece  of  mechan- 
ism. 

Saint-Simon  asserts  that  there  was  not  a  resident  in 
Paris,  of  whose  habits  and  most  private  affairs  d'Ar- 
genson could  not  obtain  the  fullest  information  at 
a  few  minutes'  notice.  His  face  was  so  repulsively 
ugly  that  it  might  with  propriety  "  have  belonged  to 
one  of  the  judges  of  the  infernal  regions."  It  made 
him  a  terror  not  only  to  evil  doers,  but  by  the  sobriquet 
it  obtained  for  him  "  Le  Damne,"  served  also  the 
nurses  for  frightening  fractious,  naughty  children 
into  being  quiet  and  good. 

It  was  that  fearful  scourge  of  humanity,  the  small- 
pox, which  had  made  such  havoc  of  d'Argenson's  face. 
One  would  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  he  was  ty- 
rannical. For  to  become  so  disfigured  as  to  be  an 
object  of  disgust  or  terror  to  one's  fellow  creatures,  is 
enough  to  turn  sour  every  drop  of  the  milk  of  human 
kindness,  however  abundantly  it  flow  in  th;2  breast. 


POLICE  ESPIONAGE,  1 53 

But  this  model  Lieutenant  of  Police  was  one  of  the 
kindest,  most  considerate  and  humane  of  men;  ex- 
tremely witty  and  amusing  also,  and  much  sought 
after  in  society.  One  can  imagine,  however,  that  he 
was  more  feared  in  the  salom  than  loved.  He  had 
numerous  anecdotes  generally  to  relate,  always  of 
nameless  persons.  And  it  is  said,  that  he  sometimes 
chose  this  way  of  putting  people  who  were  present, 
and  who  would  understand  his  allusions,  on  their 
gfuard  against  an  injudicious  freedom  of  speech. 
There  was  no  functionary  of  the  State  who  possessed 
so  much  real  power  as  the  Lieutenant  of  Police;  and 
it  does  not  appear  that  it  was  ever  materially  abused 
by  any  one  of  the  six  men  to  whom  it  was  successively 
confided  from  1699  to  1789. 

Yet,  at  the  best,  this  wonderfully  organized  system 
of  police  was  but  an  elaborate  political  and  social 
espionage  which  could  be  tolerated  only  under  a  des- 
potism. It  was  a  prying  into  family  concerns;  a  peer- 
ing into  private  letters,  even  tracing  the  mysterious 
course  of  amorous  intrigues,  rather  than  the  seeking 
out  of  crime  and  the  adopting  the  readiest  means  for 
preventing  or  punishing  it. 

It  is  true  that  while  diving  into  the  concerns  of  per- 
sons who  were  accused  of  no  crime,  or  gathering  up 
in  caf/s  and  private  salons  stray  words  indiscreetly 
uttered  (of  no  import  probably  at  the  time,  but  which 
were  docketed  and  stowed  away  for  use,  if  wanted) 
the  secret  agents  sometimes  stumbled  on  other  mat- 
ters, of  which  it  might  be  desirable  their  chief  should 
be  informed.  But  on  the  whole,  the  working  of 
Comte  d'Argenson's  vast  and  intricate  system,  served 
less  to  further  the  ends  of  justice,  to  maintain  good 
order  in  the  city,  and  to  afford  protection  to  the  in- 


154  ^-^-^  ^LD  REGIME. 

habitants,  than  to  furnish  a  pleasant  dish  of  scandal 
for  the  amusement  of  his  majesty  every  morning. 

Louis  XIV.  delighted  in  it.  The  regent  cared  not 
for  it;  he  gave  too  much  cause  for  scandal  himself. 
But  young  Louis  XV.,  whom  it  was  of  course  neces- 
sary to  initiate  in  the  mysteries  of  the  secret  police, 
was  beginning  to  show  a  taste  for  reading  other  peo- 
ple's letters,  and  learning,  thus  surreptitiously,  the 
private  sayings  and  doings  of  the  court  and  society. 

Yet  there  were  secrets  that  both  d'Argenson  and  his 
successors  kept  religiously,  as  it  is  termed,  that  is, 
locked  up  in  their  own  heart  of  hearts.  For  they  were 
merciful  men;  their  large  experience  having  taught 
them  the  weakness  of  human  nature,  and  especially 
the  weakness  to  which  poor  woman  is  prone.  So,  as 
long  as  she  did  not  interfere  in  politics,  ai.y  other 
secrets  a  fair  lady  might  have  were  safe  in  the  keep- 
ing of  the  Lieutenant  of  Police. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

The  Palais  Royal  Gardens. — Married,  but  Unattached,  Couples. 
— Que  voulez-vous  ?  C'est  la  Mode. — Le  Haute  Bourgeoisie. 
— Ennobled  Bourgeoises. — Summer  Evening  Strolls. — The 
Chestnut  Avenue. — Expulsion  of  the  Infanta. — Supplanting 
the  Bishop. — The  Regent's  Daughters. — Mdlle.  de  Verman- 
dois. — Portrait  of  Louis  XV. — The  Infanta. — The  Rambouillet 
Circle.  —  Marie  Leczinska. — The  Bishop  of  Fr6jus. — The 
King's  Preceptor. — The  Royal  Bride. — The  Young  Bride- 
groom.— The  Queen's  Dowry. 

How  poor,  how  tawdry,  the  most  brilliant  illumina- 
tion of  the  trees  of  the  Tuileries  and  Palais  Royal, 
compared  with  the  silvery  lustre  of  the  moonlit  gar- 
dens, on  a  soft  summer  night !  How  delightful  to 
saunter  in  that  avenue  of  grand  old  chestnuts.  The 
sky  so  intensely  blue,  the  air  so  clear,  that  every  glit- 
tering star  seems  to  hang  by  an  invisible  thread  from 
the  vault  of  heaven. 

It  was  on  nights  like  this,  and  in  these  same  gar- 
dens that,  eighty  years  ago,  Anne  of  Austria  (who 
with  the  child  Louis  XIV.  and  Cardinal  Mazarin, 
then  lived  in  the  Palais  Royal)  used  to  promenade 
from  midnight  till  two  in  the  morning,  chatting  and 
laughing  with  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  her  house- 
hold. 

Some  alterations  have  been  made  in  the  interval, 
both  in  the  palace  and  gardens.  The  regent  who, 
notwithstanding  his  lamentable  excesses,  was  a  man 
of  much  taste  and  culture,  has  left  a  very  fine  collec- 


156  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

tion  of  pictures  and  objets  d'art,  as  well  as  a  museum 
of  natural  history.  His  pious  successor,  whose  ele- 
vated notions  of  religion  lead  him  to  set  a  good  ex- 
ample to  his  household,  and  to  seek  the  favor  of 
heaven  for  himself,  by  crawling  from  his  rooms  to  his 
chapel,  on  his  knees,  is  scarcely  capable  of  appreciat- 
ing the  treasures  of  art  he  has  inherited.  The  regent 
also  enlarged  and  replanted  the  gardens,  and  built 
that  fine  conduit  house  which  supplies  the  fountains 
both  here  and  at  the  Tuileries. 

How  the  falling  drops  and  the  feathery  spray  spar- 
kle in  the  moonlight !  One  might  fancy  them  a 
shower  of  diamonds,  outvying  those  that  glitter  and 
flash  in  the  ladies'  dresses,  and  in  the  gentlemen's  too 
— for  there  is  a  very  grand  company  here.  For- 
saking the  theatres  and  the  salons,  the  ladies  order 
their  carriages,  and,  escorted  by  their  amis  intif?ies, 
drive  hither  in  the  calm  summer  twilight,  to  gossip 
and  flirt  under  the  broad  spreading  trees.  But  when 
the  moonbeams  light  up  the  scene,  the  fashionable 
promenade  is  thronged,  and  often  the  evening  saunter 
is  extended  far  into  the  night. 

No  lady  has  the  bad  taste  to  appear  here  with  her 
husband.  What  would  the  world  say  to  so  bourgeois- 
like  a  proceeding?  The  gentleman  himself  would  be 
highly  amused  at  the  idea  of  dancing  attendance  on 
his  wife.  He  has,  of  course,  other  engagements;  just 
as  she  has — metal  more  attractive  elsewhere. 

Should  one  of  these  fashionable,  married,  but  unat- 
tached, couples  meet,  perchance,  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  it  will  appear  that  they  are  on  excellent 
terms.  Note  the  ceremonious  politeness  with  which 
they  exchange  smiles  and  bows;  surely  it  leaves  noth- 
ing to  desire.     Even  should  it  happen  that  the  hus- 


QUE    VOULEZ-VOUS?    C EST  LA    MODE.        157 

band  of  the  lady  is  escorting  the  wife  of  her  own  ami 
intimcy  the  spectacle  only  becomes  more  interesting. 
From  the  formal  courtesies  of  the  ladies,  and  pro- 
foundly low  bows  of  the  gentlemen,  they  seem  to  say, 
"  I  wish  you  much  joy  of  so  pleasant  a  companion," 
and,  pleased  with  the  thought,  pass  smilingly  on,  each 
couple  exchanging  significant  glances  when  it  turns 
its  back  on  the  other.  "  Can  such  things  be  and  over- 
come us,"  etc.,  somebody  exclaims.  Mais!  Que  vou- 
Itz-vous  t     Cest  la  mode. 

Fashion,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is  a  tyrannical  sov-      , 
ereign  who  has  dethroned  good  taste  without  secur- 
ing a  firm  grasp  of  its  sceptre.     But  for  good  or  for       . 
evil,  in    manners   or   dress,  or   whatever   pertains    to        ' 
social  life,  the  decrees  of  fashion,  cost  what  it  may,      ' 
must  be  obeyed.     In  the  matter  of  dress,  what  sacri-      \ 
fices  are  not  the  slaves  of  fashion  willing  to  make  to        \ 
their  deity!     If  a  decree  go  forth  that  the  fair  sex, 
fat  and  thin,  put  themselves  into  paniers^  or  gigantic 
bakers'-baskets,  whose   modern   equivalent   was    the 
recently-discarded  balloon-like  crinoline— how  readily 
do  old  and  young,  rich  and  poor,  hasten  to  obey. 

If  again,  as  in  the  present  day,  a  kind  of  amphibious 
party-colored  garment,  or  ^^  detni  -  culotte  with  a  mer- 
maid tail,"  be  the  costume  prescribed  for  general 
wear,  immediately  the  requisite  amount  of  immoral 
courage  is  mustered  up,  and  both  the  obese  and  the 
scraggy,  the  tall  and  the  short,  appear  in  our  streets 
thus — to  say  the  least — unbecomingly  arrayed. 

At  one  time  it  was  the  fashion  to  be  timid  and 
nervous,  and  to  have  fits  of  the  vapors;  to  cultivate 
a  fastidious  and  over-strained  refinement  of  speech, 
amounting  to  affectation.  At  another,  the  younger 
ladies  are  dauntless,  daring,  and  afraid  of  nothing,  and 


158  THE    OLD  REGIME. 

affect  the  slang  of  the  stable.  However,  let  it  pass, 
c'est  la  mode;  a  change  will  occur  by  and  by,  and,  it 
may  be  hoped,  for  the  better.  But  a  truce  to  these 
sage  reflections.  Ere  we  grow  melancholy,  we  will 
return  to  the  company  in  the  gardens. 

A  decree  of  1720  forbade  the  bourgeoisie  to  wear 
diamonds,  pearls,  or  other  jewels,  or  to  use  either 
gold  or  silver  plate;  it  was  hoped  that  they  would 
exchange  these  superfluities  for  shares  in  the  Royal 
Bank.  The  decree  has  been  but  little  regarded,  you 
will  observe. 

There  are  ladies  here  of  the  haute  bourgeoisie  who, 
not  only  in  refinement  of  manners,  but  in  elegance 
and  richness  of  toilet,  might  well  be  ranked  with  the 
most  distinguished  of  the  nobility.  Indeed,  several 
have  lately  been  promoted  to  the  honor — if  honor  it 
may  be  termed — of  marrying  into  noble  houses.  For 
the  Systeme  Law,  without  having  actually  ruined 
them,  left  many  old  French  families  in  circumstances 
80  extremely  embarrassed,  that,  as  it  was  customary 
to  say,  "  They  were  compelled  to  fatten  their  estates" 
—in  other  words,  retrieve  their  losses  by  marrying 
the  heir  of  the  encumbered  estates  to  the  richly  en- 
dowed heiress  of  a  wealthy  bourgeois.  There  was 
nothing  that  derogated  from  the  dignity  of  the  noble 
in  such  an  alliance — the  high  descent  of  the  family 
shedding  its  lus|;re  on  the  bride,  effacing  the  stigma 
of  her  plebeian  birth,  and  conferring  nobility  on  her 
children. 

The  ennobled  dames  bourgeoises,  of  course,  are  en- 
titled to  avail  themselves  of  the  privileges  of  the  ele- 
vated class  into  which  they  have  been  so  graciousl)'" 
received;  and  very  readily  they  do  so.  Instances  have 
been  known  of  their  having  gambled  away,  in  a  very 


SUMMER  EVENING  STROLLS.  159 

short  time,  all  the  wealth  brought  by  marriage  into 
the  husband's  noble  family — the  "  ami  intime'  securing 
a  very  fair  share  of  it.  But  when  bourgeoise  marries 
bourgeois  you  will  rarely  fail  to  meet  her  enjoying  a 
quiet  walk,  or  a  country  ramble,  with  no  other  "  inti- 
mate friends"  than  her  husband  and  children. 

On  calm  summer  evenings,  all  who  are  not  too 
weary  and  toilworn — for  it  is  a  hard-working  city  no 
less  than  a  gay  one — leave  their  close,  noisome  dwell- 
ings, and  come  to  these  gardens — or  to  those  of  the 
Tuileries;  to  the  Place  Royale;  the  boulevards  (the 
Champs  Elys6eswere  not  then  planted),  and  wherever 
any  open  space  occurs,  to  refresh  themselves  with  a 
stroll  in  the  cool  evening  air.  The  French  look  so 
much  at  home  when  sitting  out-of-doors,  in  their  pub- 
lic gardens,  or  outside  their  ca//s.  One  can  scarcely 
wonder  that  casual  visitors  from  a  country  whose  peo- 
ple are  of  a  less  expansive  nature,  and  in  whom  the 
social  instinct  is  much  less  developed,  were  long 
under  the  delusion  that  the  French  had  no  idea  of  a 
home,  and  of  that  mythical  thing  the  English  call 
comfort. 

The  close  quarters  in  which,  by  royal  edict,  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  ago  it  was  enacted  that  the  inhabitants 
of  Paris  should  dwell,  no  doubt  induced  the  habit  of 
congregating  on  every  opportunity  wherever  a  breath 
of  the  fresh  air  of  heaven  could  be  had.  It  led  also 
to  the  rapid  increase  in  the  number  of  caf/s  which 
took  place  at  that  time,  and  superseded  the  taverns, 
formerly  the  resort  of  literary  men.  Now,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few,  who,  like  Piron  and  Crebillon, 
prefer  wine  and  beer  to  coffee  and  cocoa,  they  are 
frequented  only  by  a  noisy  company  of  a  very  inferior 
grade. 


l6o  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

At  the  period  now  in  question  the  garden  of  the 
Palais  Royal  is  an  exceedingly  attractive  one,  well 
laid  out  and  planted,  the  trees  generally  fine,  and  the 
chestnut  avenue  in  full  beauty.  It  is  the  promenade 
especially  favored  by  the  beau  monde.  There  are  seats 
here  and  there,  and  all  fully  occupied.  A  numerous 
company  saunters  up  and  down,  and  there  is  an  im- 
mense deal  of  talking  and  laughing.  Conversation  is 
carried  on  in  no  very  low  key,  though  all  are  aware 
that  the  watchful  eyes  and  the  listening  ears  of  the 
Lieutenant  of  Police  and  his  myrmidons  are  always 
and  everywhere  open.  "  Remember,  that  wherever 
you  are,  there  am  I  !"  said  Herault,  d'Argenson's  suc- 
cessor, to  one  whom  he  warned  in  private  of  the  danger 
of  being  indiscreetly  communicative  in  public. 

But  when  and  where  since  that  remote  time  when 
Eve,  our  first  mother,  flourished,  was  it  ever  known 
that  restraint  could  be  imposed  on  the  tongue  of  any 
one  of  her  daughters  inclined  to  prattle  ?  The  theme 
now  on  every  lady's  lips  is  the  expulsion,  as  they  term 
it,  of  the  young  Infanta  and  the  king's  possibly  ap- 
proaching marriage.  It  is  discussed,  too,  with  won- 
derful freedom,  as  are  its  originators,  M.  le  Due  and 
Madame  de  Prie.  We  learn  from  these  ladies,  so  in- 
dignant, apparently,  and  all  so  eager  at  once  to  ex- 
press an  opinion  on  the  subject,  that  the  young  Infanta, 
now  in  her  seventh  year,  has  been  sent  back  to  Spain. 
This  step  has  been  taken  suddenly  and  abruptly.  But 
by  way  of  soothing  the  wounded  feelings  of  her  pa- 
rents, orders  were  given  that  the  discarded  little  prin- 
cess should  receive  on  her  journey  home  the  honors 
due  to  a  queen  of  France. 

The  reason  alleged  for  her  return  is  similar  to  that 
conveyed  to  the  Emperor  Maximilian  in  the  message 


SUPPLANTING    THE  BISHOP.  i6l 

of  Charles  VIII.,  when  he  sent  back  to  Vienna  the 
little  Austrian  princess  to  whom  he  had  been  be- 
trothed in  his  childhood,  and  who  also  had  been 
brought  up  in  France.  He  was  twenty-two,  he  said, 
and  desirous  of  marrying,  but  thought  a  bride  in  her 
twelfth  year  too  young  for  him.  (His  choice  had 
fallen  on  a  princess  of  sixteen,  Anne,  reigning  Duchess 
of  Brittany,  the  duchy  by  this  marriage  becoming 
annexed  to  the  French  monarchy.)  This  probably  is 
the  precedent  of  which  M.  le  Due  and  his  mistress 
availed  themselves  when,  with  the  view  of  displacing 
Bishop  Fleury,  his  influence  being  paramount  with 
the  young  king — now  in  his  fifteenth  year — it  occurred 
to  them  that  by  marrying  this  youth  to  a  princess  of 
their  own  selection,  they  would  be  able  to  supplant 
the  bishop  and  rule  the  king  through  her. 

The  Infanta  had  nearly  reached  the  Spanish  capital 
before  the  king  and  queen  were  aware  of  her  departure 
from  France.  Letters  announcing  it  were  forwarded 
to  the  Abbe  de  Liviy-Sang^in,  French  Ambassador  at 
Lisbon,  with  orders  to  pass  over  to  Spain  and  deliver 
them  to  Philip  V.  The  Abb6  is  now  returned  to  Paris, 
to  make  report  of  the  kind  of  reception  he  met  with 
at  Madrid.  Secrets  will  ooze  out,  and  the  Abba's 
story,  which  M,  le  Due  would  fain  have  suppressed,  is 
the  principal  theme  of  conversation  this  fine  June  even- 
ing with  every  sauntering  group  in  the  gardens. 

*•  The  Abbe  wept,"  says  one.  "  He  threw  himself 
at  the  king's  feet  when  he  made  known  the  object  of 
his  mission." 

"Of  course  he  did,"  is  the  reply;  "it  is  but  the  or- 
dinary etiquette." 

"  Yes,  but  weeping  is  not.  And  the  king,  when  he 
knew  how  great  an  affront  had  been  put  on  him  and 


1 62  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

the  Infanta,  wept  himself.  He  has  but  lately  left  the 
monastery,  as  you  are  aware,  to  resume  the  crown  of 
Spain,  the  Pope,  on  the  death  of  his  son  from  small- 
pox, having  absolved  him  from  his  vow  of  abdication. 
He  was  so  deeply  moved  that  he  refused  to  receive  the 
letters  from  the  Abbe.  The  queen  was  sent  for.  The 
letters  were  delivered  to  her,  and  she  read  them  with 
much  emotion.  The  Abbe  declares — I  had  it  from 
himself — that  he  was  heartily  ashamed  of  his  mission, 
and  surprised  that  the  bishop  did  not  prevent  it." 

"  Chut,  chut  r  exclaim  the  more  discreet  listeners. 

But  the  well-informed  oracle  continues:  "  De  Livry 
was  ordered  to  leave  the  king's  presence,  and  to  quit 
the  country  without  delay.  All  Frenchmen  in  Spain 
have  had  orders  to  do  the  same." 

"And  where  is  Mdlle.  Beaujolais,  the  betrothed  of 
Don  Carlos  ?" 

"  She  is  coming  back;  the  marriage  is  broken  off. 
Her  sister,  the  young  widowed  queen,  is  with  her. 
They  have  proved  themselves  worthy  daughters  of  the 
regent.  Philip  sends  them  both  out  of  Spain  in  the 
same  carriages  and  with  the  same  escort  that  served 
for  the  ignominious  expulsion  of  the  Infanta  from 
France." 

"  Have  you  seen  or  heard  of  the  Marquise  lately  ?'* 
enquires  one  lady  of  another,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Ma  chere,  she  is  scouring  the  country  in  search  of 
a  queen  of  France." 

"  I  heard  that  she  had  been  to  Fontevraud,  and  was 
very  haughtily  received  there." 

"  Yes,  she  fancied  that  Mademoiselle  de  Vermandois, 
though  five  years  older  than  the  king,  might  answer 
her  purpose  as  queen.  But  the  marquise  met  with 
?.  rebuff  that  not  only  upset  her  plans,  but  disconcerted 


PORTRAIT  OF  LOUIS  XV,  163 

her  greatly.  The  princess  expressed  much  surprise 
that  her  brother's  mistress  should  presume  to  visit 
her.  When  M.  le  Due  heard  of  it,  he  got  into  one  of 
his  amiable  tempers.  *  Let  her  then,'  he  said,  *  remain 
where  she  is,  and  rule  the  nuns  of  Fontevraud.' " 

"But  Fleury?" 

"  Fleury  declines  to  interfere  in  any  project  of  mar- 
riage; but  it  is  certain  that  no  marriage  will  take  place 
of  which  he  disapproves." 

"And  the  king?" 

The  reply  is  a  general  laugh.  Somebody  has  even 
the  hardihood  to  whisper — 

"Timide,  imbecile,  farouche. 
Jamais  Louis  n'avait  dit  mot; 
Pour  tonner  il  ouvre  la  bouche. 

Est-ce  un  tyran  ?    Non,  c'est  un  sot."* 

The  ladies  are  indignant.  The  young  king  is  de- 
clared to  be  the  handsomest  youth  in  France.  He  has 
grown  wonderfully  during  the  last  two  years.  His 
health  is  more  robust,  and  he  gives  promise  of  being 
the  handsomest  man  in  his  kingdom.  "  Losil  du  rot" 
— a  deep  sapphire  blue — is  beginning  to  be  a  favorite 
color  with  the  ladies,  outrivaUing  bleu  de  del. 

The  portrait  of  Louis  XV.  by  J.  B.  Vanloo,  who 
painted  Louis  XIV.  in  his  old  age,  is  that  of  a  noble- 
looking  youth.  The  artist  would  willingly  have 
painted  a  flattering  picture,  but  found  that  the  nearest 
approach  he  could  make  to  a  faithful  copy  of  his  model 
would  be  the  nearest  approach  to  physical  beauty  and 

*Timid,  imbecile,  and  sullen, 

Louis  has  not  spoken  once. 
Now  he  lifts  his  voice  in  thunder. 

Is  he  a  tyrant  ?    No,  a  dunce. 


164  THE    OLD   REGIME. 

the  best  proof  of  his  skill.  There  is  grace  in  the  atti- 
tude of  the  youthful  king,  and  an  air  of  command. 
It  is  a  well  composed  and  very  pleasant  picture. 

Though  still  diffident  and  silent  among  persons  with 
whom  he  is  little  acquainted,  the  king's  manners  at 
this  period  are  much  improved.  He  is  far  less  brusque; 
but,  owing  to  his  natural  shyness,  appears  most  to  ad- 
vantage in  the  small  social  circle  of  the  Comtesse  de 
Toulouse,  where  his  extreme  reserve  disappears.  It 
is  at  Rambouillet  that  he  has  acquired  a  certain  courtly 
ease  and  chivalric  bearing,  which  may  well  entitle  him 
to  the  appellation  "  perfect  gentleman,"  while  they 
induce  many  sanguine  persons  to  expect  great  things 
from  him  when  a  few  more  years  shall  have  passed 
over  his  head. 

What  a  pity  that  the  bishop,  who  at  any  moment 
could  dismiss  M.  le  Due  from  his  post,  should  have 
allowed  him  and  his  mistress  to  send  away  the  In- 
fanta. She  was  a  wonderfully  observant  little  maiden, 
and  her  remarks  were  astonishingly  shrewd  for  so 
young  a  child.  She  quite  understood  that  she  was  to 
be  a  queen,  and  seemed  sensible  of  the  dignity  of  her 
position.  Her  fiancS  very  seldom  took  notice  of  her. 
Excessive  timidity  restrained  him  from  evincing  any 
great  empressemenf,  either  towards  her  or  ladies  gen- 
erally. He  is,  indeed,  as  yet,  so  little  gallant,  that  he 
usually  avoids  le  beau  sexe.  But  when  he  becomes  the 
object  of  attentions  which  fair  dames  already  are 
anxious  to  pay  him,  he  is  remarkably  polite  and  def- 
erential. 

Fleury's  own  indolence  and  love  of  ease  have  en- 
couraged the  similar  tendencies  of  his  pupil.  It  is  to 
be  feared,  that  until  actually  compelled  by  force  of 
circumstances  to  use  the  great  power  he  holds  in  his 


MARIE  LECZmSKA.  165 

hands,  he  will  make  no  attempt  to  put  it  in  action, 
either  for  his  pupil's  or  the  country's  benefit.  He  is 
as  fond  of  the  Rambouiilet  circle  as  is  the  young  king 
himself,  whom  he  usually  accompanies  on  his  weekly 
visits  to  the  chateau.  The  bishop  is  very  socially  in- 
clined, and  very  witty,  and  the  tone  of  the  society  he 
meets  in  the  salon  of  the  comtesse  greatly  pleases  him. 
The  Comte  de  Toulouse,  who  has  seen  some  naval 
service,  is  of  less  studious  habits,  perhaps  somewhat 
less  pious,  but  decidedly  of  more  genial  temperament 
than  his  brother  Du  Maine. 

The  count  has  an  only  son,  the  Due  de  Penthi^vre, 
some  years  younger  than  the  king.  The  domesticated, 
bourgeois-like  life  of  the  count  and  countess,  and  their 
attachment  to  each  other,  provoke  the  mirth  and  ridi- 
cule of  society.  Nevertheless,  they  are  greatly  and 
generally  esteemed. 

Fleury  may  have  hoped  that  in  their  society  the 
king  would  fall  into  similar  tastes  and  habits.  To  a 
certain  extent  he  has  done  so,  and  the  dissolute  young 
nobles  now  lying  in  wait  in  the  hope  of  leading  him 
into  libertine  courses,  will  probably  find  considerable 
diflSculty  in  goading  him  into  vice. 

But,  meanwhile,  what  has  become  of  the  marquise? 
She  is  a  wonderful  woman  of  business,  the  daughter 
of  a  financier,  and  on  very  intimate  terms  with  one  of 
the  brothers  Paris-Duvernay,  who  assists  her  in  gov- 
erning the  State.  There  are  rumors  that  she  has  at 
last  found  a  queen  who  has  been  accepted  at  a 
"privy  council;"  that  Fleury  has  not  objected,  and 
that  the  king,  finding  he  cannot  escape  matrimony, 
has  quietly  submitted  to  his  fate. 

The  rumor  proves  to  be  fact.  M.  le  Due  summons 
the  Grand'   chambre,  and    Louis    XV.  announces    his 


I66  THE  OLD  RMIME. 

marriage  with  Marie  Leczinska,  daughter  of  Stanis- 
laus Leczinski,  ex-king  of  Poland. 

What  an  outcry!  what  a  general  disappointment! 
"  The  daughter  of  a  poor  fugitive  Polish  noble,  living 
in  obscurity  on  a  small  pension  from  France,  to  be 
preferred  to  an  Infanta  of  Spain  !"  Had  she  been  of 
a  more  suitable  age,  it  would  have  been  some  consola- 
tion. Surely,  say  the  ladies,  there  are  young  prin- 
cesses in  Europe,  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  from  amongst 
whom  a  more  appropriate  choice  might  have  been 
made,  than  of  this  Polish  lady  in  her  twenty-third 
year,  to  share  the  throne  of  a  boy-monarch  not  yet 
sixteen!  "Madame  de  Prie  never  did  look  to  con- 
sequences," it  was  remarked.  But  why  should  the 
king  accept  a  bride  of  her  selection  ?  Is  it  really  true 
then,  as  whispered  about,  "  That  this  handsome  boy  is 
little  better  than  a  fool "  ? 

And  is  Fleury  also  a  fool?  He  had,  it  was  sup- 
posed, but  little  ambition.  He  was  seventy-two  years 
of  age,  and  not  particularly  active,  though  by  .no 
means  infirm.  But  so  far  from  being  a  fool,  he  was  a 
man  of  talent  and  considerable  culture,  unless  he  may 
have  been  considered  one  for  his  persistent  refusal  of 
high  ecclesiastical  dignities,  because  of  his  unwilling- 
ness to  take  upon  himself  any  fatiguing  or  responsible 
functions.  His  bishopric  of  Frejus  he  resigned  with 
as  little  delay  as  possible;  much  to  the  regret  of  his 
clergy.  For  by  his  economy,  and  conciliatory  spirit, 
which — as  remarked  by  Voltaire — were  the  predomi- 
nant parts  of  his  character,  he  had  done  much  good  in 
his  diocese. 

He  gave,  as  a  reason  for  resigning,  that  the  s^tate  of 
his  health  (which  was  generally  good)  did  not  permit 
him  to  discharge  satisfactorily  the  duties  of  his  office. 


THE  KlNG^S  PRECEPTOR.  167 

The  real  motive  appears  to  have  been  the  distance  of 
Fr6jus  (near  Cannes)  from  the  capital,  and  its  un- 
attractiveness,  at  that  period,  as  a  residence.  "As 
soon  as  he  saw  his  wife,"  he  said,  "  he  was  disgusted 
with  his  marriage."  In  a  letter  to  Cardinal  Quirini, 
he  signed  himself,  "  Fleury,  Bishop  of  Fr^jus,  by 
the  wrath  of  God."  His  friend,  Villeroi,  suggested  to 
Louis  XIV.  his  appointment  as  preceptor  to  his 
youthful  heir.  Fleury,  however,  would  have  willingly 
declined  it,  but  was  not  permitted. 

The  bishop  seems  to  have  been  in  some  degree  im- 
bued with  the  pleasure-loving  spirit  of  the  age;  though 
far  too  courtly  to  accept  the  philosophical  ideas  that 
were  slowly  gaining  ground  in  society.  His  delight 
was  in  witty  conversation,  and  piquant  badinage  with 
the  ladies  in  the  salons;  but  like  Massillon,  he  declined 
discussion  on  theology.  He  was  very  fond  of  children; 
and  at  Rambouillet  the  little  Infanta,  who  was  much 
attached  to  him,  used  to  sit  on  his  knees  while  he  told 
her  fairy  tales.  Such  was  the  man  who  for  ten  years 
had  been  preceptor  to  the  king,  who,  on  his  part,  con- 
fided in,  and  loved  him  both  as  a  parent  and  a  friend. 

Fleury  had,  doubtless,  his  reasons  for  consenting  to, 
or,  rather,  not  opposing,  the  marriage  of  his  royal  pu- 
pil; therefore,  the  Polish  princess  became  Queen  of 
France,  notwithstanding  the  generally  expressed  dis- 
approval of  the  nation.  Perhaps  no  one  was  surprised 
at  this  unlooked-for  elevation  so  much  as  poor  Stanis- 
laus, her  father.  More  than  one  version  has  been  given 
of  the  manner  in  which  he  received  the  news  of  this 
freak  of  fortune  in  his  favor — for  Marie  Leczinska  was 
scarcely  asked  in  marriage;  Stanislaus  was  informed 
merely  that  she  was  accepted.  He  is  said  to  have  kept 
this  fine  piece  of  news  a  secret  for  some  days;  to  have 


1 6^  THE   OLD  rAgIME. 

revealed  it  cautiously,  fearing  its  effect  on  his  wife  and 
daughter.  Another,  and  more  probable  story,  is  that 
he  no  sooner  knew  it  than  he  rushed  into  the  room, 
and,  with  true  Polish  impetuousness,  exclaimed,  "  On 
your  knees  !  on  your  knees,  and  thank  God" — himself 
setting  the  example.  "  Recalled  to  Poland  ?"  they 
cried,  excitedly.  "  No,  no  !  far  better — far  better  ! 
Marie  is  to  be  Queen  of  France  !" 

She  was  married  by  proxy  at  Strasburg  Cathedral 
on  the  15th  of  August,  1725.  The  king's  miniature, 
set  in  diamonds,  had  been  presented  to  her;  his  beauty 
and  manly  appearance  highly  extolled,  and  a  glowing 
account  set  before  her  of  the  pleasures  awaiting  her 
in  France.  But  the  intense  misery  she  witnessed  on 
her  journey — petitions  and  appeals  meeting  her  at 
every  town  and  village,  an  inconceivable  amount  of 
wretchedness  being  then  general  in  the  provinces — so 
deeply  affected  her  that  she  prayed  on  her  arrival  that, 
instead  of  expending  money  on  fetes,  relief  might  be 
sent  to  the  suffering  people. 

The  public  purse  was  very  empty  just  then,  and  lit- 
tle money  to  be  had  for  either  fetes  or  charity.  The 
royal  marriage  took  place  on  the  4th  of  September, 
and  there  was  but  scant  rejoicing  of  any  sort.  The 
young  bridegroom  was  immensely  bored,  and  annoyed 
at  the  part  assigned  to  him — so  greatly  did  he  dislike 
appearing  prominently  in  public.  The  bride  was  far 
from  being  beautiful,  but  she  was  fresh  and  fair,  and 
looked  younger  than  she  was.  Her  figure  was  grace- 
ful, and  she  was  gentle  and  amiable.  The  bishop  was 
kind,  and  appeared  well  satisfied  (he  was  already  aware 
that  he  had  no  feminine  rival  to  fear),  and  Louis  was 
therefore  resigned.  The  ladies,  of  course,  found  much 
to  criticise  in  their  new  queen,  and  laughed  exceed- 


THE  QUEEirs  DOIV/^Y,  169 

ingly  at  her  bourgeois  French,  which  she  had  acquired 
from  an  illiterate  waiting  maid. 

Madame  de  Prie  became  Dame  du  Palais  de  la  Reine, 
and  having  succeeded  in  placing  Marie  Leczinska  on 
the  throne,  was  now  looking  forward  to  the  speedy 
expulsion  of  the  bishop  and  a  long  usurpation  of 
power  for  herself  and  M.  le  Due. 

This  marriage,  at  the  time  so  generally  disapproved, 
eventually  added  a  fine  province  to  the  kingdom — the 
Duchy  of  Lorraine.  Since  the  marriage  of  Anne  of 
Brittany  with  Charles  VIII.,  no  previous  queen  had 
brought  a  dowry  of  equal  value.  A  stipulated  sum 
of  money,  only  partly  paid,  or  not  paid  at  all,  had 
been  the  usual  marriage  portion  of  the  foreign  prin- 
cesses who  became  queens  of  France. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Sledging  at  Versailles. — La  Dame  du  Palais. — The  Queen's  Se- 
cluded Life. — Piety  of  the  Queen  and  King. — The  Sound  of 
the  Hunting  Horn. — The  Good  Old  Days. — The  Rain  and  the 
Sunshine. — Intrigues  of  Mdme.  de  Prie. — The  Bishop  Re- 
tires to  Issy. — A  Domestic  Tempest.— A  Scene  at  the  Theatre. 
— Two  Lettres-de-Cachet. — Paris-Duvernay. — Fortune's  Wheel 
Moves  Round. — An  Old  Normandy  Chateau. — Death  of  Ma- 
dame de  Prie. 

The  winter  of  1725-1726  was  of  extreme  severity 
in  France,  and  distress  and  suffering  were  frightful 
in  the  provinces.  Many  of  the  lesser  nobility  worked 
as  hired  laborers  on  lands  they  had  once  owned,  and 
starvation  and  disease  prevailed  amongst  the  peasan- 
try. The  financial  difficulties  of  the  State  were  in- 
creasing, and  the  pressure  of  taxation  was  so  great 
that  murmuring  was  rife  throughout  the  country,  and 
it  was  found  difficult  to  collect  the  imposts. 

But  neither  the  rigor  of  the  season  nor  the  penury 
of  the  exchequer  was  an  evil  that  seemed  to  be  felt 
at  Versailles.  There,  the  clear  crisp  air  rang  with 
merry  laughter;  with  the  jingling  music  of  silver  bells; 
with  the  sound  of  the  swift  pattering  feet  of  small 
fleet  horses,  that  appeared  almost  to  fly  with  joyous 
parties  of  sledgers,  over  the  ice-bound  earth,  the 
frozen  lakes,  and  ornamental  waters  of  the  park. 
Polish  fashions  had  become  the  rage;  and  the  weather 
was  well  suited  for  the  warmly-lined  polonaise  of  vel- 
vet and  fur,  the  furred  casquette,  and  furred  Polish 


LA  DAME  DU  PALAIS.  ljr| 

boots,  which  the  queen  had  brought  into  vogue  with 
the  sledges. 

Every  courtier  had  his  richly  ornamented  sledge. 
The  king  and  queen,  with  the  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  the  court,  amused  themselves  greatly,  while  the 
novelty  of  this  exciting  sport  lasted.  The  queen  first 
appeared  in  a  sledge  formed  like  a  sea-shell.  It  was 
supported  by  Tritons,  and  rose-crowned  cupids  were 
grouped  around  it.  Two  fiery  little  steeds  were  at- 
tached by  embroidered  crimson  leather  harness,  from 
which  hung  innumerable  tinkling  silver  bells.  The 
shell  was  lined  with  crimson  velvet,  and  had  cushions 
of  the  same.  The  king  and  queen,  enveloped  in  rich 
sables,  passed  thus  equipped  through  the  park  of  Ver- 
sailles and  over  its  frozen  waters.  The  courtiers  were 
not  slow  to  follow  their  example;  but  sledging  did  not 
survive  its  first  season. 

Among  this  gay  throng,  none  was  more  brilliant 
than  Madame  de  Prie,  none  more  triumphant  than  M. 
le  Due;  for  on  none  did  the  queen  smile  more  gra- 
ciously. She  regarded  them  as  her  own  and  her  father's 
benefactors,  as  entitled  to  her  warmest  gratitude,  and 
to  such  favor  as  her  influence  with  the  king  might  be 
able  to  obtain  for  them.  The  dame  du  palais^  mean- 
while, sought  to  strengthen  this  feeling,  by  her  con- 
stant endeavor  to  please  the  royal  lady  she  had  raised 
to  the  throne;  and,  thus,  insinuated  herself  into  her 
confidence  and  secured  her  affection. 

The  king  had  now  entered  his  seventeenth  year, 
and  had  been  six  months  married.  Though  evinc- 
ing none  of  the  enthusiasm  of  boyish  love,  he  ap- 
peared, in  his  apathetic  way,  to  be  pleased  with  his 
pleasant- tempered,  gentle,  and  unassuming  bride. 

Intellectually,    Marie    Leczinska    was    not    highly 


1^2  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

gifted,  and  her  education  had  been  but  a  scanty  one; 
she  spoke  French  fluentl)/  enough,  but  as  an  unedu- 
cated person.  It  was  the  despair  of  the  academician, 
Moncrif,  a  great  purist,  who  was  her  reader  and  in- 
structor in  the  French  language.  She  did  her  best 
to  overcome  the  faults  which,  uncorrected,  had  grown 
into  habits,  but  never  quite  succeeded.  The  king, 
who  spoke,  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to  speak,  with 
perfect  correctness,  and  with  a  certain  elegance  of  dic- 
tion derived  from  his  preceptor,  was  often  amused  by 
the  expressions  used  by  the  queen,  and  the  singular 
and  unusual  sense  in  which  she  employed  many  words. 
He,  however,  found  her  society  sufficiently  interesting 
to  induce  him  to  saunter  away  in  her  apartments  a 
few  of  the  many  idle  hours  that  hung  so  heavily  on 
his  hands.  His  visits  to  Rambouillet  continued  as 
usual,  but  it  would  seem  that  the  queen  did  not  ac- 
company him  thither.  She  lived  in  nearly  as  much 
seclusion  as  when  dwelling  in  her  obscure  home  at 
Weissenburg.  No  grand  public /^/^^,  no  court  revels, 
had  celebrated  the  marriage  of  Louis  XV.  Not  many 
persons  could  then  remember  the  public  entry  into 
Paris  of  Louis  XIV.  and  his  Spanish  bride,  and  the 
festivities  that  followed.  But  tradition  told  of  their 
splendor  and  exaggerated  it;  and  the  pleasure-loving 
Parisians,  comparing  the  imaginary  past  with  the 
reality  of  the  present,  believed  that  the  old  state  of 
things  must  have  been  better  than  the  new. 

The  queen  had  been  reared  in  the  most  superstitious 
observance  of  the  outward  ceremonies  of  religion. 
Her  great  kindness  of  heart  prompted  her  to  indul- 
gence and  forbearance  towards  the  fair  but  frail  ladies 
of  the  French  court.  But  had  she  possessed  judgment 
and  sufficient  strength  of  mind  to  suppress  the  devotee 


THE   SOUND  OF   THE  HUNTING  HORN.      173 

and,  while  conforming  in  some  measure  to  circumstan- 
ces, to  play  more  conspicuously,  and  with  some  spirit, 
the  part  of  queen  ;  her  influence  would  probably  have 
effected  a  reform  in  the  manners  of  the  court — when, 
as  a  penitent  constantly  on  htr prie-dieu,  or  shut  up  in 
her  oratory,  she  inspired  only  sneering  pity,  or  the 
profane  laugh. 

The  king  never  omitted  morning  prayer,  mass,  and 
confession.  There  his  religion  ended.  These  duties 
performed  he  went  to  his  gardening,  or  his  turning. 
The  latter  was  a  new  accomplishment,  and  he  had 
succeeded  in  it  remarkably  well — making  very  present- 
able snuff-boxes  from  pieces  of  the  roots  of  trees. 
But  nowhere  was  he  so  free  from  ennui  as  at  Ram- 
bouillet.  A  lively  and  youthful  company  was  usually 
assembled  there.  Politics  and  affairs  of  State  were 
subjects  prohibited  in  the  salon  of  the  Countess.  A 
word  or  look  from  the  Count  at  once  put  an  end  to 
them,  if,  perchance,  either  designedly  or  otherwise, 
such  topics  seemed  likely  to  be  brought,  or  to  cjlide, 
on  the  carpet. 

But  the  chase  in  the  forests  of  Rambouillet  was 
Louis'  favorite  diversion.  The  sound  of  the  hunting 
horn,  the  baying  of  the  dogs,  the  impatience  of  his 
steed  for  the  sport,  all  delighted  him.  They  dispelled 
the  languor  and  inertness  that  usually  oppressed  him, 
and  which  arose  from  a  singularly  indolent  state  of 
mind  rendering  him  wholly  incapable  of  sustaining 
an  interest  in  any  pursuit  or  amusement,  unless  ex- 
citement were  kept  up  by  continual  movement  and 
change.  When  weather  permitted,  the  ladies  joined 
these  hunting  parties,  arrayed  in  blue  and  green 
riding-dresses,  with  lace  cravats  and  ruffles,  and  hats 
^  la  mousquetaire  or  a  la  Garde  Fran^aise. 


174  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

At  a  certain  shady  spot  in  the  forest,  a  substantial 
luncheon  was  always  laid  out,  servants  having  been 
sent  on  before,  with  hampers  of  wine  and  provisions, 
to  prepare  this  feast  of  all  the  good  things  in  season. 
They  were  pleasant  repasts.  The  exhilaration  of  the 
chase,  the  fresh,  bracing  air,  the  champagne,  the  ban- 
ter, jokes,  and  gay  talk,  moved  even  the  moody  young 
king  to  brightness  and  laughter.  Usually  there  was  a 
dance  on  his  return  to  the  chateau;  then  thd it  t Anglaise ; 
followed,  by  and  by,  by  supper;  for  this  was  especially 
an  eating  and  drinking  age,  as  well  as  a  singing  and 
dancing  one.  Sometimes,  after  the  dancing,  just  a 
little  gambling  took  place;  for  Louis  liked,  and  ex- 
celled in,  both.  And  if  it  was  a  moonlight  night, 
there  was  often  a  riding  party  home — well  armed,  of 
course;  for  there  was  a  chance  of  encountering  the 
famous  highwayman  Cartouche  and  his  brigand-band; 
just  as  in  the  good  old  days  in  merry  England. 

But  while  young  Louis  XV.  and  his  court  were 
amusing  themselves,  distress  in  the  country  was  in- 
creasing. The  populace  of  Paris  and  its  faubourgs 
were  crying  for  bread,  and  every  necessary  of  life  had 
become  scarcer  and  dearer.  Prayers  were  daily 
offered  up  in  the  churches,  and  priestly  processions 
paraded  the  streets.  The  silver  shrine  of  Ste.  Gene- 
vieve was,  by  order  of  the  Parliament,  carried  through 
the  city  by  barefooted  priests  intoning  prayers,  and 
followed  by  a  bareheaded  multitude,  who  invoked 
the  intercession  of  the  saints.  Alas!  neither  prayers 
nor  processions  availed.  No  manna  descended  from 
heaven. 

"What  fools  they  are  with  their  shrine!"  exclaimed 
Madame  de  Prie.  "  They  know  not  that  it  is  I  who 
make  both  the  rain  and  the  sunshine."     Forthwith  the 


INTRIGUES  OF  MDME.   DE  PRIE.  175 

order  is  issued  to  bring  into  the  market  the  grain 
(obtained  chiefly  by  exaction)  which  had  been  hoarded 
up  from  the  moment  that  the  probability  of  a  scarcity 
was  foreseen.  It  is  offered  now  to  the  hungry  people, 
at  prices  that  put  money  into  the  purses  of  the  minis- 
ter and  his  mistress.  This  is  the  sunshine  she  sheds 
on  the  starving  populace.  Murmurs  loud  and  deep 
reach  the  ears  of  Fleury,  and  petitions  are  addressed 
to  the  king  through  his  hands.  Madame  de  Prie,  the 
bishop  informs  M.  le  Due,  must  be  dismissed  from  the 
court;  her  influence  and  interference  in  public  affairs 
being  prejudicial  to  the  interests  of  the  State. 

The  lady  is  highly  incensed.  "  It  is  not  she  who 
will  leave  the  court,  but  the  bishop  who  shall  receive 
his  cong/.**  The  partisans  of  each  do  their  best  to 
eject  the  other.  Madame  de  Prie  and  M.  le  Due  feel 
sure  of  the  victory.  Have  they  not  the  wealthy  finan- 
cier, Paris-Duvernay,  to  support  them;  also  the  queen 
among  their  partisans?  But  Fleury  is  not  to  be  drawn 
into  a  struggle  for  power  with  the  mistress  of  M.  le 
Due,  whom  he  has  suffered  for  a  time  to  be  his  locum 
tenens.  He  allows  them  to  work  out  their  own  down- 
fall; and  it  is  not  long  delayed. 

Yielding  to  the  wishes  of  his  preceptor  that  he 
would  give  some  attention  to  the  affairs  of  govern- 
ment, the  king  was  accustomed  to  spend  a  short  time 
in  his  apartment  daily,  engaged  there  with  his  first 
minister;  the  bishop  being  always  present.  When  the 
public  business  was  disposed  of,  M.  le  Due  withdrew, 
much  to  his  annoyance;  for  the  king  remained  to 
write,  or  to  sign,  under  the  bishop's  direction,  any 
documents  relating  to  ecclesiastical  affairs — the  bishop 
having  the  independent  charge  of  Church  matters. 
It  occurred  to  the  duke  and  his  mistress,  that  as  the 


176  THE   OLD  Rj&GIME, 

king  was  more  bored  by  these  morning  sittings  than 
interested  in  them,  he  might  be  enticed  to  hold  his 
conference  with  his  minister  in  the  apartment  of  the 
queen.  Her  majesty  and  her  dame  du  palais  could  then 
amuse  him;  while  the  minister,  occupying  himself 
with  the  State's  concerns,  would  make  no  demand  on 
his  sovereign's  attention — the  bishop,  of  course,  being 
presumed  to  be  absent.  The  queen  consented;  her 
friends  assuring  her  that  it  was  a  most  necessary  and 
advisable  course. 

The  king  was  indifferent  to  this  change  in  the 
council  chamber.  But  the  bishop  though  neither  in- 
formed of  it  nor  invited  to  attend,  yet  did  not  fail  to 
appear  as  usual,  to  assist  his  pupil  with  his  advice. 
It  was  determined  to  exclude  him.  The  duke's  opin- 
ion was  not  asked  on  ecclesiastical  affairs;  the  bish- 
op's should  not  be  accepted  on  secular  ones.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  next  he  presented  himself,  entrance 
to  the  queen's  apartments  was  refused  him.  He  with- 
drew, but  said  naught.  His  royal  pupil  noticed  his 
absence,  and,  like  the  bishop,  uttered  no  remark.  He 
was  always  sparing  of  his  words,  and  very  rarely  in- 
deed carried  away  by  feeling  to  forget  the  lessons  of 
dissimulation  which,  as  a  necessary  part  of  the  educa- 
tion of  kings,  he  had  thoroughly  mastered. 

The  sitting  ended,  the  king  seeks  his  preceptor. 
He  is  not  to  be  found.  He  has  left  Versailles. 
"  Finding  that  his  majesty  has  no  further  occasion 
for  his  services  or  his  advice,  he  has  retired  to  Issy" 
— to  that  little  country  house  that  may  be  called  the 
bishop's  boudoir  J  for  thither  he  always  betakes  him- 
self when,  not  choosing  to  complain  in  words,  it 
pleases  him  to  assume  the  boudeur. 

Now  is  Louis  XV.  roused,  for  the  first  time  in  his 


A   DOMESTIC   TEMPEST. 


177 


life,  to  play  the  absolute  monarch  and  the  indignant 
husband.  His  deepest  feelings  are  his  great  rever- 
ence and  almost  filial  affection  for  bishop  Fleury. 
He  learns,  on  further  enquiry,  that  his  preceptor  has 
been  treated  with  disrespect;  the  attendants  in*  the 
ante-room  of  the  queen's  apartments  having  denied 
him  entrance.  His  anger  is  extreme.  M.  le  Due, 
whom  he  already  disliked,  strives  vainly  by  excuses 
and  apologies  to  appease  him.  With  his  own  hand 
he  has  at  once  to  sit  down  and  write  the  king's  com- 
mands to  the  bishop  to  return  to  Versailles;  adding 
pressing  entreaties  from  himself  (for  he  foresees  a 
storm  gathering  over  his  head)  that  he  will  make  no 
delay.  The  queen  is  reproached  with  a  vivacity  that 
none  hitherto  had  thought  the  king  capable  of,  while 
she  replies  only  by  tears  to  her  incensed  young  hus- 
band, whose  displeasure  is  by  no  means  subdued  by 
her  weeping. 

This  domestic  tempest,  originating  in  a  palace 
intrigue,  was  discussed  with  much  interest  in  courtly 
salons.  It  raised  the  vain  hopes  of  would-be  candi- 
dates for  the  post  of  mattresse-en-titre.  It  was  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  with  all  who  dwelt  at  Versailles. 
"I  remarked,"  says  Voltaire,  "that  this  domestic 
difference  made  a  deeper  impression  on  people's 
minds  than  the  news  of  the  war,  which  was  afterwards 
so  calamitous  to  France  and  to  Europe.  There  was 
much  agitation  and  questioning;  vague  and  mistrust- 
ful replies.  Some  desired  a  revolution;  others  feared 
it;  but  all  were  alarmed." 

Baron  was  to  play  Britannicus  that  same  evening 
at  the  Palace  Theatre.  Voltaire  was  there  when  the 
king  and  queen  arrived — an  hour  later,  he  says,  than 
usual;  the  queen's  eyes  showing  evident  traces  of  re- 


178 


THE    OLD  REGIME. 


cent  weeping.  The  popular  repugnance  to  the  king's 
marriage  was  not  yet  overcome,  and  when,  in  the 
course  of  the  play,  the  words — 

*'  Que  tardez-vous,  seigneur,  ^  la  r6pudier  ?"  * 

were  pronounced  by  Narcissus,  almost  all  who  were 
present,  we  are  told,  turned  their  eyes  on  the  queen, 
to  observe  the  effect  on  her — a  curiosity  more  indis- 
creet than  malicious. 

On  the  following  day,  Fleury  returned  to  Versailles. 
He  took  no  advantage  of  this  opportunity  of  reveng- 
ing himself  on  his  opponent,  and  uttered  no  com- 
plaint whatever.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  head  of  the 
State,  and  with  that  he  was  content.  Very  soon 
after,  however,  the  king  when  setting  out  for  Ram- 
bouillet,  where  he  had  bought  a  small  chateau  or 
hunting  seat,  invited  M.  le  Due  to  pass  the  night 
there,  and  to  hunt  with  him  in  the  morning.  He 
desired  him  to  follow  without  delay,  that  he  might 
not  be  kept  waiting  for  supper.  But  no  sooner  had 
the  king  left  Versailles  than  the  Due  de  Charost,  ex- 
governor,  and  now  Capitaine  des  Gardes,  entered  the 
apartment  of  M.  le  Due,  and,  delivering  a  letter  from 
the  king,  arrested  him.  Having  received  his  sword, 
an  officer  of  the  guards  was  summoned  to  convey  him 
to  his  place  of  exile,  which  in  this  case,  was  a  very 
pleasant  one — his  father's  residence,  the  Chateau  de 
Chantilly — there  to  remain  during  his  majesty's  pleas- 
ure. 

An  order  to  retire  to  her  estate  of  Courbe-Epine  in 
Normandy,  was  at  the  same  time  delivered  to  Madame 
de   Prie.     Regarding    this    merely    as    a   temporary 

*  Why  do  you  hesitate,  my  lord,  to  discard  her? 


PARIS-DUVERNA  Y.  1 79 

eclipse,  she  took  her  departure  from  Versailles  in  very 
good  spirits.  To  bear  her  company  during  the  sup- 
posed temporary  retirement,  Madame  du  Deffant  ac- 
companied her.  Having  quarrelled  with  both  her 
husband  and  her  ami  intime^  she  chose  to  share  her 
friend's  exile  until  she  could  make  up  her  mind  to 
which  of  them  she  would  be  reconciled. 

The  wealthy  Paris-Duvernay,  who  had  assisted  the 
State  in  the  arrangements  consequent  on  the  failure 
of  the  Systeme  Law,  was  lodged  in  the  Bastille  for  a 
time.  The  king  also  summoned  a  "  Conseil  extraor- 
dinaire," to  inform  his  ministers  that  he,  and  not  the 
financiers,  would  henceforth  be  the  head  of  the  State, 
and  that  business  would  be  transacted  in  the  apart- 
ments of  M.  de  Fleury.  That  he,  in  fact,  now  sixteen- 
and-a-half  years  old,  was  about  to  reign,  and  his  pre- 
ceptor, at  seventy-three,  to  govern. 

The  Duchesse  d'Alincourt  succeeded  to  the  vacant 
post  of  dame  du  Palais  de  la  Reine.  The  beautiful,  and 
lately  married,  Duchesse  de  Boufflers,  grand-daughter 
of  Mar6chal  de  Villeroi,  and  afterwards  Duchesse  de 
Luxembourg,  was  another  of  her  ladies.  The  queen 
was  informed  of  these  changes,  in  a  letter  from  the 
king,  also  that  the  orders  of  M.  de  Fleury  were  to  be 
obeyed  by  her  as  implicitly  as  his  own.  She  sub- 
mitted, of  course,  and  with  good  grace;  abstaining  en- 
tirely for  the  future  from  any  attempt  to  interfere  in 
affairs  of  State.  Yet  she  appears  to  have  been  really 
displeased  with  a  change  which  the  nation,  generally, 
greatly  approved.  Fleury  would  not  accept  the  title 
of  first  minister.    All  power  was,  however,  in  his  hands. 

After  the  disgraceful  administration  of  such  men  as 
the  infamous  Dubois;  the  incompetent  M.  le  Due, 
ruled  by  Madame  de  Prie  and  Duvernay,  the  French 


l8o  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

people  hailed  with  delight  the  accession  to  power  of 
one  in  whose  wisdom  and  justice  they  had  confidence; 
and  under  whose  auspices  they  looked  for  the  return 
of  order  in  the  government  and  some  respect  for  mo- 
rality and  decency  of  manners. 

A  cardinal's  hat,  which,  owing  to  the  intrigues  of 
M.  le  Due,  had  been  for  some  time  withheld,  soon 
after  made  its  appearance,  and  Fleury  received  it 
from  the  hands  of  the  king.  When  the  cardinal, 
wearing  the  insignia  of  his  newly-conferred  dignity, 
presented  himself  for  the  ceremony  of  thanking  the 
king,  the  young  monarch  affectionately  embraced  him 
in  the  presence  of  the  court,  and,  as  Duclos  remarks, 
openly  expressed  as  much  pleasure  as  the  new  cardinal 
probably  inwardly  felt. 

And  thus  the  tables  were  turned,  and  fortune's 
wheel  moved  round.  A  few  persons  went  into  exile, 
and  many  were  recalled  from  it.  The  old  Marechal  de 
Villeroi  again  visited  Paris,  to  die  in  peace  there  in 
his  eighty-eighth  year.  The  legitimated  princes  were 
reinstated  in  all  the  privileges  of  which  they  had  been 
deprived,  except  the  right  of  succeeding  to  the  throne, 
and  the  little  Duchesse  du  Maine  was  made  happy 
again  by  this  triumph. 

When  Madame  de  Prie  heard  of  these  changes,  and 
— which  affected  her  most — that  she  was  dame  du 
palais  no  longer,  she  comprehended  that  henceforth 
the  favor  of  the  queen  could  avail  her  nothing,  and 
that  she  would  be  received  at  Versailles  no  more. 
Intense  grief,  the  madness  of  despair,  took  possession 
of  her  mind.  Pilon,  M.  le  Due's  physician,  was  sent 
for.  He  supposed  her  to  be  suffering  from  the  com- 
plaint then  in  fashion  with  fine  ladies — a  nervous 
attack,  vapors  being  superseded  by  nerves.     He  treated 


DEATH  OF  MADAME  DE  PRlE.  \%\ 

her  as  a  malade  inuiginaire;  of  disappointed  ambition 
he  knew  naught.  Nor  could  he  have  ministered  to  a 
mind  diseased,  had  he  even  had  the  discernment  to 
suspect  the  existence  of  that  malady. 

And  so  the  once  brilliant  Madame  de  Prie — "a 
heavenly  creature,"  according  to  d'Argenson;  "wily 
as  a  serpent,  beautiful,  but  not  so  harmless,  as  the 
dove,"  say  others — pined  away  in  her  old  Normandy 
chateau.  And  a  living  tomb,  indeed,  it  must  have 
been  in  those  days — especially  to  one  fond  of  splendor 
and  power;  one  from  whom  France  had  accepted  a 
queen  of  her  choosing,  and  who  for  nearly  three  years 
had  ruled  the  court  of  Versailles.  After  fifteen  months 
of  exile  she  died,  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine.  D'Argen- 
son says,  she  announced,  as  a  sort  of  prophecy,  that 
her  death  would  take  place  on  a  certain  day,  and  very 
nearly  at  a  certain  hour  named  by  her.  Two  days 
before  the  time  stated,  she  secretly  sent  away  her  dia- 
monds— which  were  of  immense  value — to  some  per- 
son at  Rouen.  When  her  confidential  messenger  re- 
turned, Madame  de  Prie  was  no  more.  She  had  taken 
poison  of  a  violent  kind,  and  her  sufferings  before 
death  were  excessive. 

It  is  mentioned,  as  a  reproach  to  her,  that  she  left  by 
will  to  M.  le  Due  nothing  but  a  mediocre  diamond,  of 
about  the  value  of  five  thousand  icus. 

The  valuable  casket  of  diamonds  and  jewels  she 
secretly  disposed  of,  was  believed  to  have  been  destined 
for  Paris-Duvernay. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Fleury's  Economy. — Mimi  and  Titite. — "Notre  Toulouse." — Mdlle. 
de  Vichy-Chamroud. — A  Singular  Caprice. — The  Epidemic — 
Ennui. — An  Interesting  Couple. — A  Desolate  Normandy 
Chateau. — The  Menagerie  in  Eclipse. — Emerging  from  the 
Cloud. — "  Le  Poeme  de  la  Ligue," — A  Pious  Theft. — A  Noble 
Chevalier. — "  Rohan  je  suis." — Homage  to  Madame  du  Def- 
fant. — "Adieu,  la  belle  France." 

No  festivities;  no  amusements.  Dulness  as  depress- 
ing as  in  the  gloomiest  days  of  Louis  XIV.  has  suc- 
ceeded the  dissipations  of  the  regency.  Those  who 
shared  in  the  pleasures  of  that  corrupt  society  are  in 
despair.  They  looked  for  gaiety,  and  a  perpetual 
round  oi  fetes  and  diversions,  on  the  young  monarch's 
emancipation  from  the  control  of  tutors  and  governors. 
But,  from  the  time  when  roused,  by  M.  le  Due's  con- 
duct, to  that  temporary  display  of  energy  and  author- 
ity which  led  to  so  entire  a  change  in  the  personnel  of 
the  government,  he  had  fallen  back  to  the  monotonous 
and  secluded  mode  of  life  most  congenial  to  his  apa- 
thetic temperament. 

Fleury,  secure  against  court  intrigues,  passed  much 
of  his  time  at  Issy,  cogitating  in  retirement  on  the 
best  means  of  maintaining  peace  with  neighboring 
kingdoms,  and  in  devising  schemes  for  economizing 
the  revenue.  Like  the  great  Sully,  whom  in  this  he 
resembled,  he  was  willing  to  put  money  into  the 
treasury,  but  grumbled  exceedingly  at  any  undue 
demands  on  it.     But  while  he  reduced  the  customary 


MIAfI  AND    TITITE.  183 

lavish  expenditure  of  the  king's  household,  and  gained 
his  docile  pupil's  willing  assent  to  it,  he  also  abolished 
the  most  oppressive  of  the  taxes  laid  upon  the  people 
by  his  predecessor.  This,  on  the  one  hand,  displeased 
the  courtiers;  they  would  not  recognize  a  necessary 
or  wise  economy,  but  parsimony  only,  in  the  dimin- 
ished pomp  and  parade  of  the  court.  But,  on  the 
other,  the  timely  relief  afforded  a  suffering  people  by 
the  removal  of  a  portion  of  its  burden  of  imposts, 
gained  the  confidence  and  goodwill  of  the  nation.  It 
gave  renewed  buoyancy  to  long-cherished  hopes  that 
with  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  the  despotism  which 
marked  the  rule  of  the  Grand  Monarque^  and  the 
flagrant  depravity  that  disgraced  the  regency,  would 
give  place  to  a  more  beneficent  administration  of 
public  affairs,  and  a  better  example  of  social  life.  The 
prudent,  moderate,  and  upright  minister,  on  whom 
the  young  king's  free  choice  had  first  fallen,  was  a 
guarantee  of  the  monarch's  desire  for  the  welfare  and 
prosperity  of  his  people.  The  pleasure  he  evidently 
took  in  the  society  of  his  pious  and  amiable  queen, 
surely  also  boded  that  the  reign  of  domestic  virtue  in 
France  had  begun  at  Versailles,  and  in  the  palace 
where  it  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger.  But  such 
expectations  were  then  the  jest  of  the  salons. 

"  We  are  to  have  a  Mimi  and  Titite  at  Versailles,  I 
hear."  The  lady  who  speaks,  laughs  in  that  sneer- 
ing, cynical  way  so  characteristic  of  the  Marquise  du 
Deffant. 

It  is  she  who  throws  out  this  remark  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  company  assembled  in  the  salon  of  her 
apartment  in  the  Rue  St.  Dominique.  And  very 
amusing  they  find  it;  for  Mimi  and  Titite  are  names 
which,  in  derision,  the  beau  monde  has  given  to  the 


184  ^^^   OLD  RJ^GIME. 

Comte  and  Comtesse  de  Toulouse.  They  actually  so 
far  forget  what  is  due  to  society  as  to  appear  in  public 
together,  unaccompanied  by  intimate  friend  of  either 
sex.  Often  they  may  be  met  sauntering  in  the  grounds 
of  their  chateau,  just  like  any  poor  peasant  couple  on 
their  estate;  or,  again,  taking  a  quiet  canter  in  the 
forest,  with  no  other  companion  than  the  young  Due 
de  Penthievre.  This  son  society  has  christened  "  notre 
Toulouse" — it  .being  a  bourgeois  habit  to  speak  of  the 
heir  of  the  house  by  the  father's  surname.  M.  et 
Mdme.  Toitot-Leblond  would  call  their  eldest  or  only 
son  "notre  Toitot" — reversing  the  English  mode, 
"our  Jack"  or  "our  Dick,"  instead  of  "our  Jackson, 
or  Dickson." 

But  as  many  laughs  are  raised  just  now,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  marquise,  in  other  salons^  as  by  the  wit 
and  the  cynicism  with  which  she  attacks,  in  her  own, 
the  follies  of  others.  She  knows  it,  however,  and  is 
unaffected  by  it;  for  she  knows  that  the  dear  friends 
who  compose  her  society  are  as  little  inclined  to  spare 
her  as  she  to  spare  them,  when  it  is  a  question  between 
a  reputation  and  an  epigram.  Were  it  otherwise,  what 
would  become  of  wit  ?  and  hers  is,  par  excellence^  the 
salon  of  the  wits,  and  of  the  new  school  of  philoso- 
phism — though  not  arrived  at  the  period  of  its  great- 
est celebrity  and  influence.  The  marquise  has  scarce- 
ly yet  taken  up  the  sceptre  of  a  queen  of  society,  and 
constituted  herself  the  protectress  of  philosophy  and 
the  philosophers. 

At  this  time  she  is  about  thirty-one  or  thirty-two 
years  of  age,  and,  professedly,  "  the  most  ennuyee  woman 
in  France."  A  sceptic  and  cynic  she  has  been  from 
her  childhood.  She  is  of  a  noble  but  impoverished 
Burgundian    family — De   Vichy-Chamroud.     Having 


A   SINGULAk  CAPktCE.  185 

no  fortune,  her  parents  were  glad  to  marry  her  to  the 
Marquis  du  Defifant,  many  years  her  senior,  and  far 
from  wealthy,  but  who  is  said  to  have  been  an  estima- 
ble and  honorable  man,  of  whom  there  were  few  in 
those  days.  He  was  sincerely  in  love  with  her  also, 
and  possessed  at  least  a  position  in  society  and  a  home 
to  offer,  such  as  a  girl  without  a  dowry  could  hardly 
hope  for  in  France. 

Emancipated  by  marriage  from  all  inconvenient  re- 
straints, the  marquise  arrived  in  Paris,  and  figured 
prominently  amongst  the  fair  ladies  of  the  regent's 
court.  She  was  less  remarkable  for  beauty  than  caus- 
tic wit — a  quality  which  first  attracted  the  regent,  but, 
eventually,  an  injudicious  application  of  it  was  the 
means  of  her  losing  his  favor.  The  poor  marquis, 
who  appears  to  have  been  as  humble  and  obedient  a 
husband  as  any  lady  could  desire,  was  the  passive  vic- 
tim of  his  young  wife's  caprice,  and,  even  worse  than 
caprice,  bad  temper  and  discontent.  She  entirely  dis- 
carded him  at  last — preferring  the  exclusive  society  of 
her  ami  intime. 

She  had  already  begun  to  play  the  part  of  an  ennuy/g^ 
therefore  could  not  long  support  the  society  of  her 
friend:  and  as  she  at  that  time  succeeded  to  an  annuity 
of  four  thousand  /cus^  she  sought  a  reconciliation  with 
the  marquis,  and  proposed,  as  advantageous  to  both, 
that  they  should  unite  their  incomes,  and,  giving  up 
friendship,  live  together  in  bourgeois  fashion.  The  mar- 
quis was  delighted  with  the  idea,  and  acceded  without 
hesitation  to  her  proposal.  Her  friends,  Mdmes.  de 
Parabere,  Aisse,  de  Prie,  de  Tencin,  and  their  circle 
generally,  were  much  amused  at  the  singularity  of  this 
caprice.  Their  laughter  changed  not  her  purpose;  nor 
was  she  moved  from  it  by  a  torrent  of  reproaches  from 


lg6  'THk  OLD  REGIME. 

her  forsaken  cicisbeo.  This  innovation — the  ami  intime^ 
or  domestic  lover,  being  a  recognized  institution — was 
a  really  bold  step,  which  might  have  brought  about 
the  abolition  of  the  nuisance  of  intimate  friends  gener- 
ally, but  for  that  terrible  malady — ennui.  For  the  space 
of  two  months  all  went  on  smoothly,  even  happily,  as 
far  as  the  marquis  was  concerned.  Her  family  was 
also  much  pleased  with  the  change. 

But,  alas!  "All  that  is  bright  must  fade."  The 
lady's  resolve  to  share  her  husband's  home  faded 
away  under  the  influence  of  a  returning  fit  of  entiui. 
She  declared  she  could  endure  his  presence  no  longer, 
and  hastened  away,  lest  ennui  ^\\o\i\A  give  place  to  dis- 
gust. Ennui  was  an  epidemic  as  prevalent  then,  it 
would  seem,  as  vapors  or  nerves.  The  king  was 
affected  by  it,  and,  more  or  less,  society  generally. 
The  remedy,  with  the  king,  was  alternate  seclusion 
and  the  Rambouillet  chase;  with  society,  it  was  the 
salon,  though  not  always  an  effective  one. 

The  separate  income  of  the  marquise  was  hardly 
equal  to  the  expense  of  setting  up  a  salon — a  salon  that 
should  compete  with  that  of  Madame  de  Tencin  or  of 
Madame  de  Lambert — who,  in  spite  of  her  eighty- 
two  years,  still  received  weekly,  and  gave  her  famous 
Thursday  dinners. 

Literature  and  philosophy  scarcely  cared  to  show 
themselves  where  there  was  no  prospect  of  dinner  or 
supper.  But  where  the  good  things  of  life  were  liber- 
ally provided,  it  mattered  not  at  all  to  which  section 
of  society  the  lady  who  did  the  honors  belonged. 
What  suppers  and  dinners  were  given  by  the  popular 
singers  and  actresses  !  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur,  for  in- 
stance; the  singers  Mdlle.  Lemaure  and  Madame  Pel- 
Ussier — between  whom  great  rivalry  existed,  the  world 


A  DESOLATE  NORMANDY  CHATEAU.         187 

being  undecided  to  which  lady  to  award  the  palm  of 
prima  donna.  Again,  Mdlle.  Antier,  who,  as  Ceres, 
had  won,  by  the  charm  of  her  singing,  the  heart,  as  it 
was  called,  of  the  Vicomte  Lamothe-Houdancourt, 
not  only  gave  suppers  herself,  but,  with  her  lover,  was 
invited  to  those  of  ladies  of  high  rank.  Society,  we 
learn,  was  greatly  edified  by  the  "  mutual  passion"  of 
this  interesting  couple.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  gen- 
tleman, the  smiling  tenderness  of  the  lady — "AA/  it 
was  really  delightful  to  see."  "Alas  !  the  pity  on't" — 
it  did  not  last  long. 

If  society  smiled  on  this  interesting  pair  of  lovers, 
it  looked  severely  on  Madame  du  Deffant.  The  out- 
raged feelings  of  the  intimate  friend  she  had  forsaken 
for  her  husband,  commanded,  as  naturally  they  would, 
general  sympathy.  Now,  indeed,  he  had  his  revenge, 
and  laughed  as  heartily  at  the  marquis  as  at  the  friend- 
less marquise.  It  was  then  that  the  order  to  retire  to 
her  estates  was  received  by  Madame  de  Prie.  The 
marquise,  availing  herself  of  this  circumstance,  thought 
it  would  be  well,  until  society  had  had  its  laugh  out, 
to  go  into  exile  also.  Ennuyie  in  Paris,  she  yet  failed 
to  reflect  what  she  would  be  at  Courbe-Epine — 
her  sole  companion  a  disappointed,  desponding  intri- 
gante. Naturally,  she  found  life  intolerable  in  that 
desolate  Normandy  chateau.  Her  fit  of  ennui  was 
more  real  than  any  she  had  known  before.  She  there- 
fore determined  to  return;  leaving  her  dear  friend  to 
loneliness,  grief  and  despair,  which,  as  we  know,  death 
by  her  own  hand,  soon  after  put  an  end  to. 

On  returning  to  Paris,  the  marquise,  to  her  surprise, 
received  a  visit  from  the  Bishop  of  Clermont.  Her 
relative,  the  Duchesse  de  Charost,  believing  that  scep- 
ticism and  irreligion,  more  than  ennui^  were  the  cause 


igg  TtlE   OLD  REGIME. 

of  her  unsettled  frame  of  mind  and  general  discontent, 
fancied  that  Massillon  might  be  able  to  reason  her  into 
a  better  state  of  feeling.  Madame  du  Deffant,  speak- 
ing of  their  interview,  says,  '*  My  understanding  was 
abashed  before  the  greatness  of  his  intellect;  yet  I 
submitted  not  to  the  force  of  his  reasoning,  but  to  the 
importance  of  the  reasoner." 

The  salon  of  Madame  de  Tencin  was  at  that  time  suf- 
fering a  partial  eclipse;  it  might  have  proved  a  total 
one,  but  for  the  money  expended  in  bribes,  and  the 
influence  of  the  archbishop,  her  brother.  The  numer- 
ous "animals"  who  composed  her  menagerie,  also  ex- 
erted themselves  to  help  her  out  of  her  trouble,  being 
unwilling  to  lose  their  mistress  and  the  good  cheer 
with  which  she  provided  them.  Yet  her  position,  for 
awhile,  was  regarded  as  a  perilous  one. 

M.  La  Fresnaye,  Conseiller  au  Grand  Conseil,  after 
heavy  losses  at  the  gambling  table,  shot  himself  in 
the  boudoir  of  Madame  de  Tencin.  The  ball  passed 
through  his  heart,  and  he  died  on  the  instant.  The 
President  and  Procureur  were  sent  for,  and  the  Con- 
seiller was  buried,  at  Madame  de  Tencin's  request, 
secretly,  and  in  the  night.  This  strange  story  was 
told  about  Paris  the  next  day,  and  with  many  partic- 
ulars so  unfavorable  to  the  Canoness  that  she  was 
arrested,  and  conveyed  to  the  Chatelet,  and  thence  to 
the  Bastille.  A  paper  was  found  in  the  desk  of  La 
Fresnaye,  "to  be  opened  only  after  his  death,  and  in 
the  presence  of  his  creditors."  Instead  of  an  arrange- 
ment respecting  his  affairs,  which  it  was  supposed  to 
contain,  it  was  a  statement  that  he  was  ruined  by  the 
arts  and  deceptions  of  Madame  de  Tencin,  and  that 
if  he  died  a  violent  death  it  was  she  who  should  be 
accused  of  it.     She  was  one  of   those   monsters,  he 


EMERGING  FROM   THE  CLOUD,  189 

said,  who  ought  to  be  expelled  the  kingdom;  being 
capable  of  the  vilest  deeds. 

Much  more  followed,  but  the  paper  was  condemned 
as  malicious  and  untrue,  and  after  two  months'  deten- 
tion she  was  released  from  confinement,  secure  from 
any  renewal  of  the  accusations  against  her.  Anxiety 
had  told  on  her  health.  She  was  advised,  therefore, 
on  her  liberation  immediately  to  set  out  for  her  estates 
in  Dauphin6,  to  recruit  both  health  and  spirits,  before 
reappearing  to  shine  once  more  as  a  bright  particular 
star  amongst  her  coterie  of  wits  and  philosophic  ani- 
mals. 

La  belle  marquise,  meanwhile,  established  herself 
in  more  unpretending  style  than  formerly,  in  her  h6tel 
in  the  Rue  Ste.  Anne.  She  gave  her  circle  of  learned 
wits  and  celebrities  " M/ ti  VAnglaise''  Her  suppers 
or  dinners  were  never  far-famed,  but  she  was  recog- 
nized as  "a  prodigy  of  wit,"  whose  sentiments  favored 
the  advance  of  the  "  great  cause."  Montesquieu,  when 
in  Paris  during  the  vacation  of  the  parliament  of  Bor- 
deaux, of  which  he  was  president,  was  one  of  the  most 
constant  frequenters  of  her  salon.  The  first  success 
of  his  "  Esprit  des  Lois"  was  due  to  her  exertions  in 
distributing  copies,  and  to  her  professed  admiration 
of  the  work  as  a  most  brilliant  and  remarkable  pro- 
duction of  a  man  of  genius.  Such,  indeed,  was  the 
usual  mode  of  launching  abook.  The  Parisian  book- 
sellers' trade  was  not  then  a  flourishing  one,  so  diffi- 
cult was  it  to  obtain  permission  to  publish  "  Avec 
privilege  du  roi." 

The  books  most  in  request  were  not  those  openly 
exposed  for  sale  on  the  steps  of  the  Sainte  Chapelle, 
but  those  which  glided  furtively  into  France  from  the 
presses  of  Amsterdam  or  Brussels.     Voltaire  was  re- 


19^ 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


fused  permission  to  print  his  "  Henriade."  He  had  de- 
sired to  dedicate  it  to  the  king,  and  it  was  presented 
by  Richelieu.  Fleury  declined  to  receive  it;  yet  it 
was  not  condemned.  A  few  copies,  however,  printed 
elsewhere,  were  distributed  in  Paris  amongst  private 
friends.  This  coming  to  the  knowledge  of  some  of 
the  clergy,  application  was  made  for  authority  to 
seize  them,  with  a  view  of  suppressing  the  work  en- 
tirely by  means  of  ecclesiastical  censure.  It  was  then 
entitled  "  Le  Poeme  de  la  Ligue,"  and  was  said  to  con- 
tain passages  favoring  the  errors  of  the  "  semi-Pela- 
gians." But  it  was  its  advocacy  of  toleration,  and 
especially  the  appreciative  lines  on  Coligny,*  that  of- 
fended the  clergy;  in  whom,  with  some  honorable 
exceptions,  a  persecuting  spirit  seemed  to  be  thought 
an  atonement  for  their  generally  dissolute  lives. 

The  "  Henriade"  was  published  by  subscription  in 
London,  and  dedicated  to  the  Queen.  Voltaire's 
friend,  Thiriot,  received  subscriptions  for  the  work  in 
Paris,  and  payment  for  between  twenty  and  thirty 
copies  having  been  made,  he  put  the  amount  aside  for 
transmission  to  England.  Some  thief,  however,  en- 
tered his  apartment  while  he  was  absent  at  high  mass 
on  Whit-Sunday  morning,  and  stole  the  money.  (The 
clergy  should  have  caught  this  thief  and  have  canon- 
ized him.)  The  loss  fell  wholly  on  Voltaire;  the  copies 
subscribed  for  being  delivered,  though  the  subscrip- 

*  To  speak  approvingly  of  Coligny,  Du  Plessis  Mornay,  and 
other  Protestant  leaders,  was,  in  the  estimation  of  the  court,  to 
disseminate  sedition  ;  in  that  of  the  clergy,  to  propagate  heresy. 
"What  noble  citizens  Coligny,  La  Noue,  Du  Plessis-Mornay, 
D'Aubigne  even,  if  they  had  not  been  heretics  !"  exclaims  a  recent 
bigoted  French  writer,  in  a  sort  of  apology  for  the  persecuting 
spirit  of  the  sixteenth  century. 


''ROHAN  JE   SUISr  I9I 

tion  had  vanished.  Yet  the  London  edition  of  the 
"  Henriade"  was  a  most  successful  and  profitable  one. 

Montesquieu  visited  England  at  about  the  same 
time  as  Voltaire.  The  latter  had  left  France  on  being 
released  from  the  Bastille,  where  he  had  been  impris- 
oned for  six  months  for  sending  a  challenge  to  the 
Chevalier  de  Rohan.  This  magnificent  personage, 
possessing  no  merit  of  his  own,  plumed  himself  greatly 
on  his  noble  birth,  and  the  merits  of  his  ancestors.  He 
disapproved,  it  appears,  of  the  distinction  with  which 
Voltaire  was  received  in  the  society  of  the  men  of 
rank.  He  took,  therefore,  the  first  opportunity  that 
offered  (it  was  at  a  reunion  at  the  hotel  of  the  Due  de 
Richelieu)  of  showing  his  contempt  for  the  plebeian 
poet,  by  addressing  him  in  a  manner  his  lackey  would 
almost  have  resented.  Voltaire  replied  in  a  politely 
veiled  sarcasm  which  amused  all  present,  except  the 
Chevalier.  He  was  highly  incensed,  but  not  being  so 
spirituel  as  the  poet  he  despised,  the  witty  sally  was 
received  with  disdainful  silence.  The  noble  Cheva- 
lier, however,  revenged  himself  by  ordering  his  ser- 
vants, a  day  or  two  after,  to  insult  Voltaire  when 
leaving  the  hotel  of  the  Due  de  Sully,  with  whom  he 
had  been  dining. 

The  two  lackeys  thrust  themselves  against  him, 
elbowed  him  roughly,  and  nearly  threw  him  down 
stairs;  at  the  same  time  greatly  enjoying  his  discom- 
fiture, and  treating  it  as  an  excellent  joke.  The  Duke, 
his  host,  expressed  his  regret,  but  took  no  further 
notice  of  the  matter.  The  Chevalier  was  a  scion  of 
the  great  Rohan  family.  He  bore  on  his  shield, 
'•' Rohan  je  suis''  That  repelled  all  who  would  dare  to 
attack  him.  The  tribunals,  too,  were  not  for  such  as 
he.     No  magistrate  would  presume  to  listen  to  an  ac- 


192  THE   OLD  RAGIME. 

cusation  against  him,  much  less  to  punish  so  high  and 
mighty  a  delinquent.  But  Voltaire,  stung  to  the  quick 
by  the  unprovoked  insult  he  had  received,  after  tak- 
ing some  lessons  in  the  use  of  the  sword,  challenged 
the  Chevalier.  The  reply  was  a  lettre-de-cachet,  and  an 
apartment  in  the  Bastille. 

The  Due  de  Richelieu,  some  few  months  after,  was 
about  to  leave  Paris  in  very  grand  state,  as  Ambas- 
sador Extraordinary  to  the  Court  of  Vienna.  He  and 
Voltaire  were  on  intimate  terms;  and  as  the  Duke  was 
at  that  time  in  favor  at  Versailles,  and  had  obtained 
in  his  appointment  to  this  embassy  the  wish  of  his 
heart,  and  facility  for  equipping  himself  with  due 
splendor — by  means  of  un  arret  de  surseance  to  shield 
him  from  his  creditors,  he  resolved,  before  leaving,  to 
do  his  poet  friend  a  good  turn,  if  possible,  by  securing 
his  speedy  release.  He  spoke  to  the  king;  also  to  the 
queen,  who  had  but  recently  granted  a  pension  of 
fifteen  hundred  francs  to  Voltaire  from  her  own  pri- 
vate purse.  They  referred  him  to  Fleury,  who,  the 
affair  being  explained  to  him,  granted  the  duke's  re- 
quest immediately. 

Naturally  Voltaire's  six  months'  incarceration  had 
given  added  keenness  to  his  cynicism,  rather  than 
blunted  its  sting.  His  admiration  of  French  institu- 
tions had  at  the  same  time  diminished.  He  deter- 
mined therefore  to  bid  adieu  for  a  time  to  his  friends 
of  the  salons^  to  the  budding  philosophers,  and  to  the 
many  fair  dames  he  adored.  To  none  did  he  pay 
greater  homage  than  to  Madame  du  Deffant.  The 
reign  of  the  "sublime  Emilie"  had  not  then  begun, 
and  the  free-thinking  marquise  commanded  his  high- 
est admiration.  He  took  every  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing of  her,  of  vaunting  her  understanding,  of  flatter- 


''ADIEU,   LA   BELLE  FRANCE T  193 

ing  her  imagination,  and  of  placing  her  on  the  very 
best  terms  with  herself — though  her  excessive  egoism 
had  already  rendered  any  efforts  of  that  sort  super- 
fluous. He  praised  her  wit,  and  exaggerated  exces- 
sively the  merits  of  those  bagatelles,  vers  de  socUt^^  of 
which  so  plentiful  a  crop  was  then  produced — not 
only  in  the  salon  of  the  marquise,  but  in  every  other 
salon  of  that  day. 

Of  the  poetic  trifles  of  Madame  du  Deffant,  Voltaire 
wrote: — 

**  De  qui  soni  ils  ces  vers  heureux, 

L6gers,  faciles,  gracieux? 

lis  ont,  comme  vous,  I'art  de  plaire; 

Du  Deffant,  vous  gtes  la  mftre 

De  ces  enfants  ing6nieux."  * 

But  Voltaire  did  not  linger  long  in  Paris.  Having 
bent  the  knee  before  the  brilliant  marquise  and  the 
fair  Adrienne  Le  Couvreur,  and  embraced  those 
friends  he  called  his  "dear  angels" — the  d'Argental 
family — he  left  la  belle  France,  crossed  the  Channel, 
and  for  the  next  three  years  took  up  his  abode  in 
England. 


*  Whose  are  these  easy,  g^raceful  lines  ? 
They  have,  like  you,  the  art  of  pleasing. 
You,  Du  Deffant,  are  the  happy  mother 
Of  these  brilliant  children. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Prayers  for  a  Dauphin. — The  Prayer  is  granted. — Louis  XV.  a 
Model  Husband. — Baron's  Final  Retirement, — Death  of  Adri- 
enne  Le  Couvreur. — Jealous  Rivals.  — Generosity  of  Adrienne. 
— Burial  of  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur. — Voltaire's  Lines  on  Adri- 
enne.— Zaire,  ou  Les  Enfants  Trouv6s. — Grandval  the  Actor. 
— The  Prime  Donne.— Rameau. — The  Abb6  Pelligem. — A 
Musical  Cabal. — Voltaire  et  les  Danseuses. — The  Apotheosis 
of  Hercules. — Boucher's  Painting  Room. 

Great  was  the  disappointment  of  the  French  peo- 
ple when,  in  August,  1727,  it  was  announced  that  twin 
daughters  were  born  at  Versailles — Madame  premiere^ 
et  Madame  deuxieme.  Greater  still  was  the  outcry  in 
the  following  year,  when  Madajne  troisilme  made  her 
appearance.  The  queen  grieved  and  wept.  She  felt 
that  she  had  not  done  her  duty  to  the  nation.  But 
the  king  consoled  her,  and  received  the  third  little 
pnncess,  we  are  told,  "  with  a  good  grace,  and  coura- 
geously;" yet  he,  too,  would  have  given  a  much  warm- 
er welcome  to  a  son. 

However,  it  was  thought  advisable  to  petition 
heaven  for  a  dauphin;  and,  accordingly,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris  ordered  public  prayer  to  be  made 
throughout  the  kingdom  for  an  heir  to  the  throne. 
The  king  and  queen  also  went  in  state  to  Paris  to  ask 
the  intercession  of  Ste.  Genevieve.  Marie  Leczinska 
had  been  three  years  married,  but  this  was  her  first 
visit  to  the  capital.  The  Parisian  world  was  therefore 
anxious  to  see  its  queen,  and  though   not   too  well 


THE  PRAYER  IS  GRANTED.  195 

satisfied  with  her,  gave  her  a  cordial  reception  that 
proved  cheering  to  her  spirits.  Barbier  describes  her 
^s  petite,  slight  in  figure,  and  rather  thin.  Other  ac- 
counts speak  of  her  as  above  the  middle  height,  and 
of  graceful  and  dignified  carriage;  while  one  of  her 
ladies  of  the  palace  says,  rather  contemptuously,  "  She 
is  a  good  enough  sort  of  a  Pole,  but  a  little  bourgeoise 
and  very  devout."  All,  however,  are  agreed  that  she 
had  no  claim  to  beauty,  though  her  face  was  not  un- 
pleasing,  owing  to  its  amiable  and  gentle  expression. 

She  wore,  we  learn,  on  this  occasion,  a  pale  pink 
robe  of  state,  with  scalloped  trimmings,  but  without 
ornament  of  gold  or  silver.  The  "  Sancy"  glittered  in 
her  hair;  the  twelve  Mazarin  diamonds,  on  her  arm, 
set  as  a  bracelet,  and,  besides,  the  whole  of  the  crown 
jewels  apparently — with  the  exception  of  the  "  Re- 
gent," which  the  king  wore  in  his  hat — were  arranged 
as  stomacher,  necklace,  or  other  ornament  for  her 
dress  or  hair. 

Thus  brilliantly  arrayed,  and  accompanied  by  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  their  household  in  full  court 
dress  and  in  the  royal  state  carriages,  their  majesties 
traversed  Paris.  The  glittering  show  delighted  the 
people,  who  rarely  witnessed  the  pomp  and  display 
of  the  court — royal  visits  to  Paris  being  few  and  far 
between.  Ste.  Genevieve  would  seem  to  have  lent  a 
favorable  ear  to  the  prayers  of  the  royal  suppliants 
and  their  faithful  lieges;  for  on  the  4th  of  September 
— their  majesties'  wedding  day — 1729,  the  nation  was 
gladdened  by  the  news  of  the  birth  of  a  dauphin. 

Few  public  rejoicings,  however,  took  place.  The 
king  gave  no  signal,  and  the  nation  was  as  indolent 
and  inert  on  the  subject  as  their  sovereign  himself. 
It  was  desirable  that  there  should  be  an  heir  to  the 


196  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

throne.  He  was  born.  King  and  people  were  satis- 
fied; there  was  an  end  of  it;  and  the  cardinal  was  far 
too  anxious  to  restore  order  in  the  financial  system  to 
countenance,  much  less  to  propose,  expenditure  on 
fetes.  Unlike  Louis  XIV.  in  his  youth,  Louis  XV. 
shunned  gaiety,  and  communicated  his  own  gloomy 
apathy  to  the  court.  Nothing  annoyed  or  bored  him 
so  much  as  having  to  take  any  part  in  a  public  cere- 
mony or  fete.  He  would  scarcely  look  at  a  lady,  and 
at  that  time  was  quite  a  model  husband.  "  The 
queen,"  he  said,  "  was  prettier  than  the  handsomest 
ladies  at  court."  But  his  constancy  to  the  wife  who 
had  been  chosen  for  him  was  owing  more  to  indiffer- 
ence than  admiration.  With  idleness  and  quietude 
he  was  then  perfectly  content,  and,  had  he  not  been 
interfered  with  by  the  more  actively  evil-minded 
young  men  of  his  court,  he  would  have  gone  on  to 
the  end  of  his  career,  simply,  un  rot  faineant,  instead 
of  being  that  and  much  more. 

But,  while  the  news  from  Versailles  was  received 
with  a  languid  satisfaction  by  the  world  of  Paris,  an- 
other and  widely  different  announcement  excited  veiy 
lively  regret  among  the  society  of  the  capital.  It 
was  that  of  the  final  performances  of  Michel  Baron, 
and  his  retirement  from  the  stage. 

Owing  to  the  greater  popularity  of  operatic  per- 
formances, both  at  the  Academy  of  Music  and  Opera 
Comique,  the  Theatre  Frangais  had  received  but  in- 
different support  until  the  reappearance  of  Baron. 
His  and  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur's  interpretation  of  the 
principal  rSles  in  the  plays  of  Corneille  and  Racine, 
and  the  tragedies  of  Voltaire  and  La  Motte,  had  re- 
vived the  vogue  of  the  Theatre;  which  was  now  a 
well-frequented   and   flourishing   establishment.     As 


DEATH  OF  ADRIENNE  LE  COUVREUR,        197 

Baron  still  trod  the  stage  with  a  firm,  elastic  step,  his 
form  erect,  his  bearing  noble,  the  fire  of  his  eye  un- 
dimmed,  and  his  finely-modulated  voice  yet  sonorous, 
flexible,  and  unfaltering,  his  intention  to  retire  caused 
as  much  surprise  as  when,  ten  years  before,  his  reap- 
pearance was  announced. 

Strength  of  will,  a  resolve  not  to  succumb  to  the 
infirmities  of  age,  bore  him  up  through  his  part — 
"  and,"  says  an  eye-witness,  "  it  was  difficult  not  to 
yield  to  the  illusion  that  he  was  actually  the  person 
he  represented."  But,  the  play  ended,  it  was  evident 
that,  if  he  had  succeeded  for  awhile  in  oTercoming 
physical  weakness,  he  had  suffered  much  in  the  strug- 
gle. He  accepted,  therefore,  the  warnings  of  na- 
ture, and  retired  with  his  great  reputation  undimin- 
ished. His  acting  gave  a  temporary  revival  of  public 
favor  even  to  the  plays  of  Pradon.  In  "  Regulus,"  a 
very  poor  tragedy,  he  made  a  deep  impression  on  his 
audience.  One  of  his  last  appearances  was  as  Ladis- 
laus,  in  Rotrou's  play  of  "  Vencislaus."  Though  un- 
accustomed to  betray  any  emotion,  save  that  which 
the  character  he  represented  required,  on  that  occa- 
sion, he  is  said  to  have  hesitated  for  a  moment,  as  if 
to  overcome  personal  feeling — after  repeating  the 
words,  "  So  near  the  grave,  whither  I  am  going." 

The  farewell  to  Baron  was  an  ovation  on  the  part 
of  the  public.     He  died   in  the  following  year;  sup- 
posed   to  be  not   less   than    seventy-seven    or   eight. 
Under  his  portrait  J.  B.  Rousseau  wrote: — 
"  Du  vrai,  du  path6tique,  il  a  fix6  le  ton, 
De  son  art  enchanteur  I'illusion  divine 
Pretait  un  nouveau  lustre  aux  beaut6s  de  Racine 
Un  voile  aux  d^fauts  de  Pradon. "  * 

*  He  struck  the  key-note  of  pathos  and  truth.     The  divine  il- 


198  f^^   OLD  rAgIME. 

In  the  same  year  that  the  death  of  Baron  occurred, 
the  Comedie  Frangaise  lost  another  of  its  popular 
favorites — Adrienne  Le  Couvreur.  It  was  then  cus- 
tomary to  attribute  all  deaths  of  which  the  exact 
cause  was  not  known,  to  poison.  The  jealousy  of 
the  Duchesse  de  Bouillon  was  said  to  have  occasioned 
Adrienne's,  by  means  of  poisoned  pastilles,  adminis- 
tered to  her  by  a  young  abbe.  It  is  a  story  un- 
worthy of  credit;  though  probably  Scribe's  play  may 
have  contributed  to  gain  credence  for  it.  The  Comte 
Maurice  de  Saxe  was  the  fickle  lover  of  both  those 
ladies.  But  it  does  not  appear  that  the  duchess — 
who,  like  the  actress,  had  a  large  circle  of  amis  intimes 
■ — was  so  jealous  of  wholly  monopolizing  the  atten- 
tions of  that  butterfly  personage  as  to  poison  a  former 
mistress:  or,  that  the  actress  was  so  piqued  by  their 
transfer  to  another,  that,  forgetting  what  was  due 
to  the  audience,  she  addressed,  from  the  stage,  the 
pointed  speeches  of  Phedre — a  part  she  was  playing 
— to  the  duchess  in  her  box,  and  was  rewarded  for 
this  impertinence  and  bad  taste  by  the  plaudits  of  the 
whole  house.  Mdlle.  Sauvre,  on  some  other  occasion, 
is  said  to  have  addressed  a  favored  rival  from  the 
stage;  but  the  fickle  lover  was  not  Maurice  de  Saxe, 
and  the  audience  was  the  reverse  of  sympathetic. 

Voltaire,  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  of  Mdlle.  Le 
Couvreur's  host  of  admirers,  repudiated  the  idea  of 
poison,  and  attributed  her  death  to  a  violent  attack  of 
dysentery.  She  took  no  care  of  her  health,  was  near 
forty  years  of  age,  and  had  led  a  life  in  accordance 
with  the  licentiousness  of  the  period;  which  was  not 

lusion  of  his  enchanting  art  gave  new  lustre  to  the  beauties  of 
Racine,  and  veiled  the  faults  of  Pradon. 


GENEROSITY  OF  ADRIENNE. 


199 


only  little  severe  towards  an  actress,  necessarily  ex- 
posed to  very  g^eat  temptations ;  but  could  also  regard 
with  complacency  the  open  depravity  of  such  great 
ladies  as  the  Duchesse  deBouffleurs,  granddaughter  of 
the  Mar^chal  de  Villeroi.  Voltaire  himself  introduced 
to  Adrienne  a  friend  who  became  a  rival — his  dear 
angel,  the  Comte  d'Argental — who  would  have  mar- 
ried the  fascinating  actress;  but  she  declined  his  suit, 
to  the  great  relief  of  his  family. 

She  doubtless  felt  more  than  a  passing  regard  for 
the  faithless  Maurice  de  Saxe.  To  enable  him  to 
equip  his  soldiers  when  he  proposed  to  recover  the 
principality  of  Courland — to  the  sovereignty  of  which 
he  had  been  elected,  but  was  excluded  from  it  by 
Russia, — Adrienne,  who  was  generous  to  prodigality, 
supplied  him  with  the  sum  of  forty  thousand  francs, 
the  product  of  the  sale  of  her  jewels.  Very  sincere, 
too,  was  her  regret  when,  not  long  before  her  death, 
she  heard  that  he  had  gone  to  a  ruinous  expense  and 
incurred  debts  in  the  construction  of  a  ^^gai^rgy"  which, 
propelled  by  mechanism,  and  probably  steam,  was  to 
make  the  voyage  up  the  Seine,  from' Rouen  to  Paris, 
in  twenty-four  hours.  He  had  obtained,  on  the  cer- 
tificates of  two  men  of  science,  testifying  to  the  utility 
of  this  project,  a  privilege  or  patent  from  the  king. 
But  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  best  scientific  skill 
and  labor  then  obtainable,  he  never  succeeded  in  get- 
ting the  apparatus  into  working  order.  "J/a/V,  que 
diable  allait-il-faire  dans  cette  gallreV*  exclaimed  Ad- 
rienne when  she  heard  of  his  scheme  and  its  failure. 

Priestly  aid  was  not  sought  for  Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur 
until  it  was  too  late  to  confess;  to  declare  that  she 
renounced  her  profession,  and  to  receive  absolution. 
Christian   burial  was  therefore   refused,  though  the 


200  "THE   OLD  REGIME. 

large  sum  of  a  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  she 
charitably  left  to  the  poor,  was  not  rejected  by  the 
Church;  as  consistently  it  should  have  been,  as  the 
gift  of  one  excommunicated.  Two  street  porters  were 
employed  to  carry  her  body,  in  the  night,  to  the  cor- 
ner of  the  Rue  de  Bourgogne,  and  to  bury  her  there. 
Baron  had  dreaded  a  like  indignity,  but  provided 
against  it  by  timely  arrangements  with  the  Church. 
Yet  he  invariably  asserted  that  he  had  never  felt  the 
smallest  scruple  to  declaiming  before  the  public  the 
chefs-d'ceuvreoi  the  genius  of  the  great  French  authors; 
and  that  nothing,  he  conceived,  could  be  more  irrele- 
vant than  to  attach  shame  and  disgrace  to  the  reciting 
of  a  work  which  it  was  deemed  glorious  to  have  com- 
posed. 

"  I  have  seen,"  says  Colle,  in  his  memoirs,  "  Baron, 
Le  Couvreur,  and  Les  Quinault,  and  they  gave  me 
the  idea  of  perfection — and  especially  Baron;  though, 
when  I  saw  him,  he  could  not  have  been  less  than 
seventy-three  or  seventy-five  years  of  age." 

Thus  passed  away,  almost  at  the  same  time,  these 
two  great  stars  of  the  Theatre  Frangais.  The  indig- 
nant lines  written  by  Voltaire  on  the  ignominy  cast  on 
the  great  French  actress  by  the  countenance  of  the 
priesthood  to  such  a  burial  as  hers,  were  the  cause  of 
his  again  being  obliged  to  leave  Paris.  He  retired  to 
Normandy  where  he  wrote  "Zaire."  The  perform- 
ance of  the  graceful  Mdlle.  Gaussin  in  the  principal 
part  quickly  consoled  him  for  the  loss  of  Adrienne, 
who,  as  some  persons  thought,  was  excelled  by  her 
successor;  art — as  was  the  case  with  Baron — intelli- 
gently subdued,  aiding  and  heightening  the  effect  of 
her  natural  gifts.  Of  Adrienne,  Voltaire  wrote, 
"Nature  had  taught  her,  and  Cupid  finished  her  edu- 


GRANDVAL,    THE  ACTOR.  iOt 

cation."  Voltaire's  play  of  "Zaire,"  achieved  an  im- 
mense success,  and  many  were  the  heart-burnings  it 
caused  amongst  would-be  rivals.  To  cast  ridicule 
upon  it  in  the  salons^  they  gave  it  a  new  title,  "  La 
piece  des  enfants  trouv^s."  This  raised  many  a 
laugh,  but  did  not  diminish  the  success  of  the  play. 
Writing  tragedies  and  comedies — which  sometimes 
were  read  in  the  salons^  but  rarely  produced  on  the 
stage — was  as  much  a  mania  at  that  period,  as  the 
writing  of  novels  in  the  present  day. 

After  the  retirement  of  Baron  and  the  death  of 
Mdlle.  Le  Couvreur,  the  popularity  of  the  Com6die 
Frangaise  seems  to  have  declined  for  awhile.  Yet  it 
maintained,  undiminished,  its  reputation  as  the  first 
theatre  in  Europe;  the  dramatic  ability  of  the  several 
members  of  its  company  forming,  as  was  generally 
acknowledged,  an  assemblage  of  talent  unrivalled 
elsewhere.  Yearly,  the  old  repertoire  was  gone 
through,  Rotrou,  Corneille,  Moliere,  Racine,  Pradon, 
and  Cr6billon*s  early  tragedies.  New  productions 
were  less  generally  approved  by  the  constant  habituh 
of  the  theatre.  The  success  of  a  new  play  might  be 
great,  yet  it  would  be  allowed  only  a  limited  number 
of  representations. 

There  were,  it  appears,  fewer  successful  comedies 
than  tragedies,  yet  Grandval,  who  contributed  so 
much  to  make  the  fame  of  "  Le  Glorieux"  was  then 
in  high  repute  both  as  an  actor  and  as  "  the  glass  of 
fashion."  Great  nobles  studied  his  looks,  his  gestures, 
his  manner  of  carrying  his  cane,  of  presenting  his 
snuff-box,  of  taking  off  his  hat;  his  grandly  deferen- 
tial air  when  conversing  with  ladies;  his  entries  and 
exits,  and  the  graceful  tournure  of  the  whaleboned 
skirts  of  his  coat.     Happy,  indeed,  were  many  of  the 


20i  ^-^^   OLD  REGIME. 

jeunesse  doree  if,  after  diligent  practice,  they  went 
forth  from  their  cabinets  Grandvals;  but  in  their  own 
opinion,  Grandvals  improved:  so  far  surpassing  their 
model,  that  they  who  studied  most  to  catch  the  airs 
and  graces  of  the  actor,  were  fond  of  jesting  in  the 
salons  on  Grandval's  amusing  assumption  of  the  man- 
ners of  the  fashionable  world. 

But  the  most  powerful  counter-attraction  to  the 
Theatre  Fran9ais  was  at  all  times  the  opera.  At  this 
period  disputes  ran  so  high  respecting  the  pre-emi- 
nence in  talent  and  beauty  of  the  three  prime  donne, 
that  swords  were  drawn  and  blood  was  shed.  Hap- 
pily it  flowed  not  from  fatal  wounds,  but  from  slight 
scratches  and  gashes,  which  the  ladies'  admirers  re- 
spectively felt  compelled,  in  honor,  to  give  and  re- 
ceive whenever  a  word  in  disparagement  of  the  object 
of  his  adoration  was  uttered  in  his  presence.  It  was 
often  elegantly  said  of  Mdlle.  Lemaure,  that  she  was 
"as  stupid  as  a  post."  She  had  a  fine  voice,  but  no 
musical  culture,  and  little  natural  intelligence.  But 
she  had  a  pretty  face,  and  was  always  splendidly 
dressed. 

They  were  advantages  that  counted  for  much,  for 
musical  taste  was  but  little  developed;  Lulli  most 
frequently  occupied  the  scene,  and  the  audience  was 
familiar  to  weariness  with  the  chief  of  his  produc- 
tions. Madame  Pellissier  was  an  artiste  of  greater 
pretensions,  whose  merits  were  recognized  by  the 
more  critical  part  of  her  hearers.  Little  Mdlle.  Antier 
was  both  clever  and  pretty,  and  sang,  it  was  said, 
with  the  tenderness  of  the  dove;  which,  reminding 
one  of  a  monotonous  cooing,  does  not  seem  very  high 
praise.  Of  the  male  singers,  Thevenard,  Chasse,  and 
Murane  were  most  in  favor.     Murane  was  subject  to 


RAMEA  O.  i03 

frequent  fits  of  religious  melancholy,  and  inclined  to 
migrate  from  the  operatic  stage  to  the  cloister.  It  is 
probable  that  Francine,  Lulli's  son-in-law,  who  so 
long  had  the  direction  of  the  opera  of  the  Academy, 
may  have  been  the  cause  of  Lulli's  music  being  for  so 
many  years  almost  exclusively  given  there. 

When  Destouches,  the  musician,  in  1724  succeeded 
Francine  in  the  management  of  the  opera,  he  brought 
forward  his  own  musical  compositions,  which  were 
rather  below  than  above  mediocrity.  Compra,  a 
better  musician  but  inferior  composer,  was  not  more 
successful.  Yet  the  talented  Rameau,  whose  musical 
gifts  had  been  evident  from  childhood;  who  had 
studied  his  art  in  Italy,  had  published  a  treatise  on 
harmony,  studies  in  counterpoint,  and  other  theoreti- 
cal works,  with  some  successful  sonatas  for  the  harp- 
sichord, on  which  he  was  a  skilful  performer,  could 
scarcely  obtain  by  teaching,  in  Paris,  the  bare  means 
of  subsistence. 

He  had  sought  the  appointment  of  organist  at  one 
of  the  churches  of  Paris,  but  had  failed  to  obtain  it, 
owing  to  the  opposition  he  had  met  with  from  the 
paltry  intrigues  of  jealous  mediocrity.  Disgusted 
and  disheartened,  and  suffering  from  distress,  he  was 
glad  to  accept  the  place  of  organist  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Clermont,  in  Auvergne;  his  hopes  of  rising  to 
distinction  in  the  musical  world  being  thus  long- 
deferred,  and,  at  first,  apparently  at  an  end. 

In  1723,  Michel  Monteclair,  first  contrebasse  of  the 
Orchestra  of  the  Academy  of  Music,  produced  an 
opera,  "Jephth^,"  which  the  director  accepted,  and 
which  was  well  received  by  the  public.  Rameau,  who 
was  present  at  its  first  representation,  was  moved  by 
the  applause  bestowed  on  it,  to  abandon   his   theo- 


204  ^^^  ^^^  REGIME, 

retical  writings  for  the  composition  of  operatic  music. 
Yet  there  seems  to  have  existed  somewhere  a  per- 
sistent determination  to  thwart  his  hopes.  To  get  a 
hearing,  he  wrote  the  music  for  Piron's  piece,  "  La 
Rose,"  which  was  produced  at  the  Theatre  de  la  Foire 
of  St.  Germain,  the  composer's  name  being  withheld. 
It  was,  however,  very  successful,  and  the  airs  became 
popular. 

The  Abbe  Pelligem,  a  writer  of  canticles — which  it 
was  his  singular  custom  to  adapt  to  airs  of  the  Pont- 
Neuf,  or  tunes  of  the  satirical,  often  ribald,  songs  of 
the  people — had  written  a  dramatic  poem  entitled 
"  Hippolyte  et  Anne."  Persuaded  by  Mdme.  de  la 
Popliniere, — wife  of  the  wealthy  fermier-general,  and 
daughter  of  Daucour,  of  the  Theatre  Frangais — who 
had  been  a  pupil  of  Rameau,  the  Abbe  entrusted  his 
poem  to  the  poor  organist  to  set  to  music.  This  was 
quickly  done,  and  the  piece  produced.  A  cabal,  mean- 
while, was  got  up.  Enthusiastic  Lullists  were  joined 
by  some  of  the  singers,  and  it  was  determined  that 
Rameau's  music  should  not  be  heard,  but  be  put  down 
at  once. 

The  house  was  well  filled;  all,  however,  were  not  op- 
ponents. Those  who  went,  intending  to  hear,  appear 
to  have  been  as  numerous  as  those  who  had  determined 
that  nothing  should  be  heard.  Numerous  interrup- 
tions occurred.  A  large  number  of  the  rioters  were 
ejected,  and  notwithstanding  the  great  disadvantages 
of  so  tumultuous  a  first  representation,  enough  was 
heard  by  competent  connoisseurs  to  convince  them 
that  France  possessed  a  musician  of  genius.  That,  in 
fact,  a  greater  than  Lulli  was  there.  Laborde,  writing 
of  him  says,  "Music  owes  to  Rameau  as  much  as  sci- 
ence does  to   Newton."     But  Rameau  was  fifty  years 


VOLTAIRE   ET  LES  DANSEUSES. 


205 


of  age  before  his  talent  obtained  recognition,  and  even 
then  it  was  but  grudgingly  granted — the  Lullist  and 
Ramist  contest  being  kept  up  for  some  time.  His 
opera  of  Castor  and  Pollux  completed  his  triumph. 
The  world  then  ran  after  him,  lauded  him  as  before  it 
had  dispraised  him,  and  librettists  innumerable  be- 
sieged him  with  offers  of  collaboration. 

Another  great  attraction  at  the  opera  was  the  ballet. 
Nicolet,  and  Mdlles.  Sall6  and  Camargo  were  the 
principal  dancers,  and  the  corps-de-ballet,  generally, 
was  very  efficient. 

"Oh!  Camargo,  que  vous  gtes  brilliante! 
Mais,  que  Sall6  est  beaucoup  plus  ravissante,"* 

wrote  Voltaire,  uncertain  to  which  of  these  divinities, 
**  filles  de  Terpsichore  et  I'Amour,"  the  greater  homage 
was  due. 

There  is  a  very  graceful  picture  by  Lancret,  the 
pupil  and  imitator  of  Watteau,  of  Mdlle.  Sall6  as  a 
wood  nymph. 

"  Ses  pas  sont  mesur^s  par  les  grftces, 
Et  composes  par  les  amours,"  f 

again  writes  the  enraptured  Voltaire.  But  when 
Mdlle.  Camargo,  whose  dancing  is  described  as  hav- 
ing  the  appearance  of  flying,  once  more,  fluttering  her 
gauzy  wings,  dazzles  him  by  her  rapid  flight  across 
the  stage,  he  writes — 

"Camargo  vole  en  ces  beaux  lieux 
On  voit  sans  toi  languir  nos  yeux, 

*  Oh!  Camargo,  how  brilliant  you  are! 
But  how  much  more  charming  Sall^. 
f  Her  steps  were  devised  by  Cupid,  and  measured  by  the  graces. 


206  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

De  tes  pas  la  vivacit6, 
Est  Timage  de  la  volupt6; 
Pour  te  suivre  les  jeux,  les  ris, 
Ont  quitt6  la  cour  de  Cypris. ''  * 

The  scenery,  dresses,  and  decorations  were  splendid. 
The  opera,  indeed,  never  succeeded  in  paying  its  ex- 
penses, so  costly  were  its  scenic  effects  and  general 
arrangements.  The  State  had  continually  to  release 
the  directors  from  debt.  Yet  the  opera  was  greatly 
patronized,  and  the  salaries  of  the  principal  singers 
and  dancers  were  small,  compared  with  those  received 
by  the  great  artistes  of  the  present  day.  The  great 
outlay  was  in  stage  decorations  and  dress. 

The  famous  Boucher  now  painted  the  scenery.  He 
was  a  pupil  of  Lemoine,  the  painter  of  the  "  Apotheo- 
sis of  Hercules,"  on  the  ceiling  of  the  grand  salon  of 
Versailles.  The  work  occupied  him  four  years,  but, 
as  he  fancied  that  it  did  not  meet  with  due  apprecia- 
tion from  the  king  and  the  cardinal,  the  disappoint- 
ment preyed  on  his  mind,  and  in  a  moment  of  despair 
he  committed  suicide.  Boucher  did  not  equal  his 
master,  and  was  inferior  to  Watteau,  whom  he  imi- 
tated. He  had  but  lately  returned  from  Italy,  where 
he  had  joined  Carle  Vanloo.  Italy,  however,  was  not 
to  his  taste.  He  loved  Paris  and  the  libertine  life  he 
led  there.  He  cared  not  for  the  old  masters,  and  pre- 
ferred to  paint  figurantes  to  saints.  Yet,  in  purely 
decorative  art,  Boucher  was  unrivalled. 

Soon  after  his  return  to  France,  he  fell  in  love  at 


*  All  eyes  follow  thy  rapid  flight 
'Tis  the  image  of  delight. 
Leaving  Cypria,  all  press  after 
Thy  delicious  jests  and  laughter. 


BOUCHER'S  PAINTING  ROOM.  207 

first  sight  with  a  young  girl,  who,  with  her  beauty  and 
a  large  basket  of  cherries,  made  a  very  pretty  picture, 
as  she  sat  selling  her  fruit  at  the  corner  of  a  street  in 
Paris.  This  young  girl  became  his  mistress,  but  soon 
after  died,  when  Boucher,  to  dispel  his  deep  grief, 
plunged  into  a  course  of  reckless  dissipation.  The 
grief  was  quickly  dispelled,  it  appears,  as  he  shortly 
after  married,  but  the  dissipation  continued.  In 
spite  of  his  meretricious  style,  and  the  adverse  criti- 
cism he  met  with,  Boucher  became  the  fashion,  and 
painted  fair  dames  of  every  degree,  and  every  shade 
of  philosophy.  His  painting  room  was  a  perfumed 
boudoir,  draped  with  plaited  pink  silk  and  curtained 
and  festooned  with  pale  blue  satin. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Drawing-Room  Picture, — The  Young  Comte  de  Mirabeau.— 
Rival  Gambling  Salons. — The  Foundling,  d'Alembert. — The 
Irrepressible  Bull. — Mdlle.  Daucour. — The  Rich  Fermier- 
G6n6ral. — The  Hotel  La  Poplini^re. — A  Scene  of  Enchant- 
ment.— A  French  Mephistopheles. — The  Banished  Wife. — 
The  Infamous  de  Richelieu. 

"  What  a  commotion  at  the  Frangais  last  night  i" 
murmurs  a  lady,  as  with  an  indolent  air  she  reclines 
on  the  cushions  of  a  crimson  brocaded  and  gold-laced 
sofa  in  the  salo7i  of  Mdme.  de  Tencin.  She  has  scarcely 
the  air  of  a  Frenchwoman.  Her  eyes  are  large,  dark, 
and  lustrous.  She  wears  no  rouge,  and  the  clear,  pale 
bistre  tint  of  her  complexion,  the  strongly  marked  eye- 
brows, and  masses  of  dark  hair  coiled  round  her  head, 
in  a  coronet,  and  guiltless  of  powder,  seem  to  denote 
an  Oriental  origin.  Her  dress  is  of  rich  material,  and, 
on  the  whole,  is  of  the  fashion  of  the  day.  Yet  it  so 
far  differs  in  many  of  its  details  from  the  prevailing 
taste,  as  to  appear  an  adaptation  of  la  mode  to  the  style 
and  fancy  of  the  wearer,  more  than  a  full  concession 
to  fashion's  decrees. 

A  little  negro,  fancifully  attired,  stands  near  the  end 
of  the  sofa,  fluttering  a  large  bunch  of  marabout 
plumes.  Most  ladies  at  this  period  had  an  attendant 
negro  boy,  but  rarely  did  he  appear  so  harmonious 
an  accessory  as  in  the  very  pretty  picture  formed  by 
this  lady  and  her  slave. 

"And  what  was  the  cause  of  the  commotion,  ma 


THE    YOUNG  COMTE  DE  M IRA  BEAU. 


209 


chireV  inquires  Madame  de  Tencin,  as  she  glances  at 
two  young  men  in  earnest  conversation  at  the  further 
end  of  the  salon^  and  who  both  are  h^r protege's — one, 
indeed,  is  her  reputed  son — they  are  the  younger 
Helvetius  and  d'Alerabert. 

"  All  the  news  and  on-dits  of  the  day,"  she  continues, 
"reach  you,  ma  belle Haid/e^  sooner  even  than  Madame 
du  Deffant,  though  Pont  de  Veyle  carries  his  daily 
budget  to  her.  But  then  you  see  him  first,  and  you 
have  d'Argental's  report  besides." 

"  I  heard  this  from  the  Chevalier,"  replies  the  lady. 
"  He  was  at  the  Fran9ais  when  a  party  of  young  offi- 
cers entered  and  called  loudly  for  one  of  Moliere's 
plays,  *Le  Tartuffe,'  I  think,  instead  of  *  Britannicus,' 
the  piece  announced.  To  not  a  word  of  the  latter 
would  they  listen;  the  actors  were  hissed  whenever 
they  attempted  to  speak.  The  disturbance  at  last  be- 
came so  general,  that  the  police  with  difficulty  ejected 
the  rioters  and  some  of  the  audience  who  had  joined 
them.  Foremost  among  them  was  the  dissipated 
young  Comte  de  Mirabeau,*  who  has  fallen  despe- 
rately in  love  with  Mdlle.  d'Angeville,  and  vows  he  will 
marry  her  in  spite  of  his  family." 

"Young  Mirabeau  marry  d'Angeville!"  exclaimed 
Helvetius,  advancing  towards  the  ladies.  "  He  could 
as  easily  persuade  the  old  Marquis  himself  to  consent, 
as  prevail  on  her  to  do  so.  She  read  his  tender  billets- 
doux  last  night  for  the  amusement  of  the  company  at 
supper  at  La  Quinault's.  Mirabeau  will  be  on  his 
way  to  Besangon  to-morrow.  Duras'  regiment  is 
there,  and  he  joins  it." 


*  Father  of  the  great  orator. 


2IO  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

"  Poor  boy,"  sighs  the  lady  on  the  sofa,  "  He  is  but 
seventeen." 

Madame  de  Tencin  replies  not;  her  thoughts  have 
been  turned  to  other  objects.  "They  play  at  Cav- 
agnole,  and  play  high  at  La  Quinault's?"  she  says 
inquiringly. 

"Sometimes,  Madame,"  replies  Helvetius. 

"  You  were  there,  then,  last  night  ?" 

"Frankly,  yes,  Madame." 

"And  d'Alembert?" 

"  D'Alembert  also."  Helvetius  answers  for  him,  and 
a  smile  passes  over  the  face  of  the  young  man.  For 
nowhere  is  gambling  more  reckless,  more  ruinous, 
than  in  the  salon  of  Madame  de  Tencin.  Helvetius 
is  wealthy;  he  is  a  protigi  she  is  proud  of.  He  is 
young,  handsome,  brilliant;  professes  atheism,  and 
is  approved  by  Voltaire.  She  feels  that  society  is 
greatly  indebted  to  her  for  discerning  the  merits  of 
this  brilliant  young  man,  and  producing  him  in  the 
salon  at  so  early  an  age.  Yet  his  superfluous  cash,  she 
considers,  should  not  be  diverted  from  her  tables  to 
fill  the  purses  of  actresses. 

As  for  d'Alembert,  except  for  a  certain  interest  she 
takes  in  him,  it  matters  not  at  all.  He  has  nothing 
to  lose.  His  only  assured  income  is  a  yearly  allow- 
ance of  twelve  hundred  francs  from  the  Chevalier 
Destouches,  his  reputed  father.  D'Alembert,  as  an 
infant  of  a  few  days  old,  was  found,  abandoned,  on 
the  steps  of  the  church  of  St.  Jean-Tourniquet,  by  a 
glazier,  who  took  pity  on  the  poor  child  and  carried 
him  home  to  his  wife.  These  good  people  brought 
him  up  as  their  own  son;  his  education  being  provided 
for  by  Madame  de  Tencin. 

When  she  perceived  that  he  gave  promise  of  be- 


THE  IRREPRESSIBLE  BULL.  2II 

coming  distinguished  among  scientific  and  literary 
men,  she  was  desirous  of  acknowledging  him.  Bur 
d'Alembert  declined  the  honor,  saying,  "The  only 
mother  he  knew  was  the  woman  who  had  rescued  and 
nursed  him  in  infancy."  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
asserted  that  he  was  so  mortified  at  the  generally  sup- 
posed obscurity  of  his  birth,  that  he  would  have  been 
only  too  happy  to  have  accepted  the  recognition  of 
Madame  de  Tencin  or  Destouches,  had  they  really 
offered  it.  However,  he  frequents  her  salon^  and  her 
patronage  is  useful  to  him.  She  has  lost  none  of  her 
prestige  by  the  misadventure  that  caused  her  tem- 
porary eclipse.  She  has  resumed  her  place,  and 
shines  as  brilliantly  as  ever  among  the  stars  of  the 
Parisian  world.  Arrived,  too,  at  that  uncertain  pe- 
riod of  life  called  middle  age,  Madame  de  Tencin  is 
even  more  distinguished  than  before.  Forbidden 
philosophical  books  are  secretly  circulated  through 
her  influence;  young  men  are  formed  in  manners, 
initiated  in  the  principles  of  the  new  school  of  thought, 
and  develop  their  talent  for  wit  in  her  salon. 

Her  brother,  the  archbishop,  a  firm  partisan  of  the 
Bulle  Unigenitus,  is  at  this  time  engaged  in  per- 
secuting the  venerable  old  bishop  of  Senez,  who  has 
opposed  the  Bull,  and  is  suspected  of  Jansenism. 
Fleury,  so  fond  of  peace,  is  much  disturbed  by  this 
resurrection  of  the  irrepressible  Bull,  as  well  as  by  the 
scenes  of  daily  occurrence  in  Paris  in  the  cemetery  of 
St.  ;Medard.  There,  a  fanatical  Jansenist,  known  as 
the  Diacre-Paris,  has  recently  been  buried,  and  mira- 
cles are  said  to  take  place  at  his  tomb.  The  cemetery 
is  thronged.  The  lame  man  carried  there,  at  once 
casts  aside  all  aid  and  returns  home  running  and 
leaping.     The   blind  see;  the  dumb  speak;  the  deaf 


212  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

hear — so  it  is  affirmed.  The  people,  however,  are 
more  inclined  to  profane  jesting  than  reverence,  and 
the  philosophers  protest  against  such  scenes,  as  the 
work  of  a  knavish  priesthood.  The  cemetery  is  to  be 
closed,  and  Tencin,  to  whom  such  work  is  a  labor  of 
love,  relieves  the  aged  Fleury  from  much  trouble  and 
anxiety  by  his  success  in  putting  down  the  scandals 
of  Jansenism,  and  compelling  acceptance  of  the  Bull. 

Madame  de  Tencin  has,  therefore,  some  influence 
with  the  cardinal-minister,  and,  having  become  de- 
vout, has  exerted  it  on  the  side  of  morality.  It  was 
she  who  induced  the  cardmal  to  refuse  the  wealthy 
La  Popliniere  the  renewal  of  his  term  of  fermier- 
general,  unless  he  made  his  mistress  his  wife.  He 
had  long  promised  to  do  so;  but  Mdlle.  Daucour,  the 
lady  in  question,  complained  of  the  delay  in  the  per- 
formance of  his  promise.  Madame  de  Tencin  was 
her  friend.  Into  her  sympathetic  ear  she  poured 
the  story  of  her  wrongs.  Virtuously  indignant,  she 
undertook  Mdlle.  Daucour's  cause,  requesting  only 
secrecy  on  her  part.  A  word  to  the  cardinal,  and  a 
hint  from  the  king — who  desired  that  his  court  and 
his  people  should  follow  his  example  of  conjugal 
fidelity — very  soon  after  made  Mdlle.  Daucour,  Ma- 
dame de  La  Popliniere. 

M.  de  La  Popliniere  was  not  perhaps  the  richest  ol 
the  financiers  of  Paris.  The  famous  Samuel  Bernard 
was  no  doubt  a  much  richer  man,  and  the  extreme 
benevolence  of  his  character  led  him  to  make  a  far 
nobler  use  of  his  wealth  than  M.  de  La  Popliniere  did 
of  his.  ThQ  latter  was  chiefly  known  for  his  magnifi- 
cent style  of  living.  His  hotel  in  the  Rue  St.  Antoine 
was  furnished  with  a  splendor  that  vied  with  that  of 
the  Hotel  Lesdigui^res. 


THE  HOTEL  LA   POPLINIERE,  21  ^ 

His  house  at  Auteuil,  on  a  smaller  scale,  was  a 
sort  of  palace  of  the  genii.  Boucher  was  called  from 
his  silk-draped  boudoir  to  paint  on  the  panels  of  the 
salons  some  of  those  exquisite  designs  in  which  he  so 
greatly  excelled.  There  were  fine  specimens  of  Na- 
toire's  far-famed  decorative  work,  and  portraits  of 
stage  beauties  by  Carle  Vanloo  and  Largilliere,  fils 
(who  was  called  the  Vandyke  of  France,  and  who  con- 
tinued to  paint  portraits  with  undiminished  skill  until 
near  the  age  of  ninety).  M.  de  La  Popliniere  was  not 
only  a  liberal  patron  of  the  arts,  but  a  giver  of  sump- 
tuous banquets.  His  hotel  was  the  general  resort  of 
the  wits,  choice  spirits,  philosophers,  stars  of  the  the- 
atrical and  musical  world,  painters  of  celebrity,  and 
a  fair  sprinkling  of  the  nobility. 

Naturally,  the  incense  of  flattery  was  unsparingly 
bestowed  on  him.  It  is  therefore  not  surprising  to  find 
him  a  little  vain  of  his  social  achievements.  But  he 
was  a  remarkably  genial  host,  rather  distinguished  in 
appearance,  and  having  married  Mdlle.  Daucour,  he 
presented  her  to  his  friends  with  some  pride.  For  she 
was  a  young  and  charming  woman,  very  musical,  witty, 
and  agreeable,  and,  as  he  conceived,  did  honor  to  his 
choice.  Foreigners  of  distinction  often  visited  M.  de 
La  Popliniere.  A  portion  of  his  hotel  was  set  apart 
for  the  reception  of  the  virtuosi  of  other  nations,  who, 
when  sojourning  in  Paris  for  awhile,  accepted,  as  his 
guests,  the  hospitality  of  his  princely  establishment. 
Italian  painters,  sculptors,  and  musicians  were  sure  of 
a  gracious  welcome,  both  from  Monsieur  and  Madame. 

Rameau,  patronized  by  Madame  de  La  Popliniere, 
had  an  apartment  assigned  him,  with  the  appoint- 
ment of  organist;  a  chapel,  also  a  small  theatre,  being 
attached  to  the  hotel.     In  the  beautiful  little  theatre 


2 14  TH^  OLD  rAgIMB. 

Rameau  officiated  as  chef  d'orchestre.  On' Sundays,  at 
Mass,  he  improvised  on  the  organ.  The  mingled 
sweetness  and  sadness  of  his  strains;  his. "  religious 
sensibility,"  as  Diderot,  then  young,  was  accustomed 
to  say,  greatly  impressed  his  hearers;  and  none  more 
than  Diderot  himself — the  most  highly  gifted  of  the 
philosophic  band,  though,  unhappily,  of  so  ill-organ- 
ized a  mind. 

The  petits-soupers  at  Auteuil  outrivalled  all  others. 
Not  merely  in  the  repast  itself;  in  the  magnificent  sil- 
ver table  service,  of  artistic  design  and  exquisite  work- 
manship; but  in  the  general  arrangements.  Guests, 
taken  there  for  the  first  time,  are  said  to  have  been 
as  startlingly  surprised  as  though  some  brilliantly 
lighted  scene  of  enchantment  had  suddenly  opened 
before  them.  Perfumes,  flowers,  scenic  illusions, 
music,  instrumental  and  vocal,  by  unseen  performers, 
a  perfect  intoxication  of  the  senses.  No  wonder  that 
Mdlle.  Daucour  should  have  desired  permanently  to 
dwell  in  this  fairy  bower;  that  she  should  have  been 
grateful  to  her  dear  Madame  de  Tencin  for  the  word 
in  season  dropped  into  the  ear  of  the  good  cardinal, 
always  so  anxious  to  help  society  to  reform. 

She  was  a  much  envied  woman  in  the  fashionable 
world  of  Paris,  in  spite  of  a  singularly  laughable  crot- 
chet of  M.  de  La  Popliniere,  who,  while  adopting  in 
other  respects  the  manners  and  customs  of  aristocratic 
society,  was  actually  so  barbaric  in  his  ideas,  that  he 
refused  to  allow  his  wife  the  services  of  an  ami  intime. 
He  chose  to  take  the  duties  of  that  office  on  himself, 
and  was  so  boyishly  romantic  as  to  allow  it  to  appear 
that  he  had  an  affectionate  regard  for  his  wife.  Some 
sharp-sighted  ladies  kept  a  vigilant  eye  on  her;  just 
to  see  how  she  bore  such  tyranny.     But  all  went  on 


A  FRENCH  MEPHISTOPHELES.  21 5 

well,  until  "  this  long  dream  of  happiness,"  as  it  was 
jestingly  termed,  was  one  evening  the  subject  of  con- 
versation and  laughter  in  a  salon  where  a  number  of 
ladies  were  amusing  themselves  with  their  "  purfling," 
and  gentlemen  with  their  embroidery.  One  of  them 
was  that  Mephistopheles  of  French  society,  of  whom 
it  was  said  "  that  like  the  serpent  he  was  resolved  to 
conquer  the  world,  through  woman  " — the  infamous 
Due  de  Richelieu. 

Hitherto  he  had  honored  La  Popliniere  with  but 
little  of  his  company.  The  reunions  of  artistes  pos- 
sessed small  attraction  for  him,  and  the  host,  to  his 
mind,  was  far  too  pretentious — putting  himself  on  a 
level  with  grands  seigneurs  such  as  he;  though  Riche- 
lieu, in  fact,  had  but  little  to  plume  himself  upon  in 
his  ancestry.  However,  he  has  now  a  worthy  motive 
for  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  the  magnificent 
financier,  to  whom  anonymous  notes  are  soon  after 
constantly  addressed,  attributing  disparaging  conduct 
to  his  wife.  He  has  confidence  in  her  and  disregards 
such  insinuations.  But  during  her  absence  at  d^fete^ 
a  more  explicit  letter  reaches  him.  He  is  induced  to 
push  his  inquiries  further,  and,  to  his  intense  dismay, 
he  is  compelled  to  give  credence  to  the  accusations 
against  her.  He  orders  that  the  doors  be  closed,  and 
admission  refused  on  her  return.  News  of  what  has 
occurred  is  carried  to  her.  Meeting  with  her  hus- 
band's friend,  the  Marechal  de  Saxe,  she  prays  him  to 
take  her  home  in  his  carriage.  He  does  so,  and 
thrusting  aside  the  servant,  who  would  prevent  her 
from  entering,  he  leads  her  to  her  husband.  "  Lis- 
ten," he  says,  "  for  a  moment  to  your  wife,  she  desires 
to  justify  herself  in  your  eyes."  He  then  leaves  them 
together. 


2l6  THE  OLD  rAgIME. 

La  Popliniere  is  in  a  distracted  state  of  mind;  he 
turns  sadly  from  his  wife,  when,  throwing  herself  on 
her  knees,  she  implores  forgiveness  for  the  wrong  she 
has  done  him.  Her  confession  increases  both  his 
anger  and  his  grief.  He  desires  her  to  leave  his 
house,  and  she  does  so  on  the  following  day,  to  take 
up  her  abode  in  a  humble  cottage  at  Passy,  with  a 
small  monthly  allowance  for  her  support  from  her 
husband.  There  she  pines  away;  grief,  remorse,  de- 
spair, soon  do  their  work,  and  La  Popliniere  is  re- 
leased from  the  fair  frail  wife  who  had  so  bitterly 
deceived  him,  but  whom,  nevertheless,  he  unceasingly 
regrets.  As,  at  the  marriage  of  Mdlle.  de  Valois, 
Richelieu  presented  himself  to  gaze  unmoved  on  the 
grief  of  the  young  girl  whose  love  he  had  won,  and 
who  was  sacrificing  herself  for  him,  so  this  insidious 
seducer  had  the  audacity  and  barbarity  similarly  to 
insult  the  erring  wife  who,  so  weakly  yielding  to  his 
blandishments,  had  brought  ruin  and  disgrace  on  her 
head. 

Richelieu  had  then  just  married  his  second  wife, 
Mdlle.  de  Guise,  the  heiress  of  the  Due  de  Lorraine, 
But  he  confessed  that  what  pleased  him  most  in  this 
marriage  was  the  right  it  gave  him  to  add  the  cross  of 
Lorraine  and  the  golden  eaglets  of  a  sovereign  house 
to  his  family  arms.  He  therefore  was  not  restrained 
by  any  feeling  for  his  bride  from  gratifying  his  desire 
to  ascertain  how  the  financier's  wife  was  affected  by 
the  sudden  transition  from  affluence  and  happiness  to 
straitened  means,  neglect,  and  contempt. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

Thfe  k  I'Anglaise  and  a  Lecture. — The  Queen's  Privy  Purse. — 
The  President  H6nault. — Le  Marquis  d'Argenson. — Defence 
of  the  Cardinal. — The  Cardinal's  Petit  Coucher. — Mademoi- 
selle Alss6.— The  Chevalier  d'Aidye.— The  Sleep  of  Death.— 
History  of  the  Fair  Haid6e. — Les  Devotionnettes. — A  Warn- 
ing Sign  from  on  High. — Miss  Black. 

A  LETTER,  informing  Madame  de  Tencin  of  the 
death  of  her  friend  and /r^/<^/if,  Madame  de  la  Popli- 
niere,  was  put  into  her  hands  when  her  thoughts  were 
occupied,  as  we  have  noticed,  with  the  rival  gambling 
tables  of  the  sa/on  Quinault.  It  afforded  her  a  ready 
theme  for  moralizing,  as  well  on  the  sad  event  itself, 
as  generally,  on  the  manners  of  the  age.  Having  left 
off  rouge,  she  could,  of  course,  with  much  propriety, 
be  severe  on  that  subject.  And  she  was  severe,  for 
the  especial  benefit  of  the  two  youths,  Helvetius  and 
d'Alembert,  respecting  whose  success  in  society — not 
the  society  of  actresses,  as  she  remarked — she  might 
naturally  be  supposed  to  feel  anxious,  as  they  had 
made  their  t//<^«/ under  her  auspices  and  in  her  sa/on. 

With  well  simulated  reverence  they  listened  to  the 
preaching  of  the  reformed  sinner  (for  such  in  some 
sense  she  was),  while  sipping  their  tea,  ordered  in  as 
a  support  to  her  lecture.  Th^ aVAtiglaise^  in  the  more 
severe  salons,  such  as  that  of  Madame  de  Tencin,  was 
preferred  as  an  accompaniment  to  conversation,  and 
"a  something  to  do,"  to  embroidering  applique,  or  cut- 
ting out  pictures,  and  the  working  of  worsted  roses. 


2l8  THE   OLD   REGIME. 

The  tea-table  is  placed  in  front  of  the  sofa,  where 
the  Circassian  lady  reclines,  though  not  so  much  from 
indolence  as  because  she  is  ill.  Her  malady  is  con- 
sumption, a  very  prevalent  one  at  the  period  in  ques- 
tion. It  is  a  fitful,  deceptive  disease.  She  fancies 
to-day  that  she  really  has  nothing  but  a  slight  feeling 
of  languor  to  overcome,  and  she  will  be  perfectly  weil. 
Hence  her  visit  to  Madame  de  Tencin,  who,  after 
being  her  inveterate  enemy,  is  become  her  very  dear 
friend,  but  may  be  her  enemy  again.  It  is  the  way, 
you  know,  of  womankind  to  be  thus  capricious  in  their 
so-called  friendships.  But  let  us  not  moralize:  it  is 
'flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable"  so  to  do. 

The  warnings  and  teachings  of  the  usually  brilliant 
Madame  de  Tencin  had  reached  the  very  verge  of 
drowsiness,  when  two  habitues  of  her  salon  fortunately 
dropped  in  and  turned  the  sluggish  current  of  con- 
versation into  another  channel.  One  of  the  arrivals 
was  the  president,  Henault,  controller  of  the  queen's 
household,  and  keeper  of  her  privy  purse — the  last  an 
office  of  no  great  responsibility,  for  the  cardinal 
allowed  but  little  to  be  put  into  the  purse.  Its  dis- 
bursements were,  therefore,  scarcely  more  important 
than  the  distributing  of  pence  to  the  poor.  The  queen 
had,  indeed,  complained  to  the  king  of  the  cardinal's 
stinginess;  he,  however,  only  recommended  her  to 
follow  his  example,  and  ask  him  for  nothing;  when 
she  would  be  sure  of  meeting  with  no  refusal. 

But  Henault  has  a  literary  reputation,  and  it  is 
founded  on  his  chronological  histories  of  France, 
Spain,  and  Portugal.  His  suppers  have  made  him 
famous  in  social  circles,  and  his  wit  has  gained  him 
brevet  rank  in  the  salon  of  the  vivacious  Duchesse  du 
Maine.     There   are  people  who  consider  Henault  as, 


THE  PRESIDENT  H&NAULT,  ^xg 

before  all  things,  un  don  vtvant.  But  his  gourmandisey 
we  learn,  was  the  ^^ gourmandise  of  choice  spirits  " — 
an  enlightened  appreciation  of  the  nuances  of  flavor  in  . 
savory  dishes,  and  the  delicate  bouquet  of  choice  wines. 
Madame  du  Deffant  said  of  the  president  (he  was 
president  of  the  parliament  of  Paris)  that  "supper 
was  one  of  the  essential  qualities  of  the  man.  Take 
that  away,  what  remains  to  him  ?"  she  asked.  Vol- 
taire judged  differently,  and  often  addressed  flattering 
lines  to  his  friend,  whose  talent  he  could  appreciate 
as  well  as  his  suppers: 

**  H6nault,  fameux  par  vos  soupers 
Et  par  votre  chronologic, 
Par  des  vers  au  bon  coin  frapp^ 
Pleins  dc  douceurs  ct  d'harmonie. 

"  Les  femmes  vous  ont  pris  fort  souvent 

Pour  un  ignorant  fort  aimable;  , 

Les  gens  en  us,  pour  un  savant, 
Et  le  Dieu  joufflu  de  la  table 

Pour  un  connaisseur  fort  gourmand."* 

H^nault  has  but  just  left  Madame  du  Deffant,  more 
than  usually  oppressed  by  the  demon  ennui.  He  has 
confided  her  to  the  tender  care  of  another  devoted 
friend,  the  Marquis  de  Pont  de  Veyle.  Often  the 
Marquis  spends  the  live-long  day  seated  at  one  corner 
of  her  fire-place,  the  Marquise  occupying  the  opposite 
side — he  gazing  upon  her,  as  though  enjoying  the 
spectacle  of  a  martyr  to  ennui,  she  affecting  not  to  be 
aware  of  his  presence. 

*  '*  H6nault,  famous  for  your  suppers,  your  chronology,  and  your 
verses  with  the  ring  of  true  metal,  full  of  sweetness  and  harmonv- 
Women  often  take  you  for  an  amiable  ignoramus,  philosophers 
for  a  savant,  and  the  jolly  God  of  the  table  for  a  most  fastidious 
connoisseur." 


±20  "PitE  OLD  rAgIM^. 

The  other  addition  to  Madame  de  Tencin's  tea-table 
guests  is  the  Marquis  d'Argenson,  a  severe  censurer 
of  the  manners  and  morals  of  the  period. 

He  complains  of  the  low  tone  that  now  prevails  in 
circles  that  once  were  called  good  society.  Con- 
versation, he  says,  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  Philosophy, 
intent  only  on  breaking  down  the  barriers  that  should 
separate  classes,  fills  every  salon  with  a  heterogeneous 
mob,  amongst  whom  he  finds  himself  a  stranger,  and 
far  more  solitary  than  when  alone  in  his  study  with 
no  society  but  that  of  his  books.  "  If,"  he  continues, 
"  any  subject  of  interest  should  perchance  be  intro- 
duced in  these  salons^  immediately  the  frivolous  com- 
pany begin  to  laugh,  to  yawn,  to  talk  all  at  once,  to  ask 
questions  the  most  irrelevant;  being  too  idle  to  listen, 
too  ignorant  to  reason.  He  can  compare  them  only 
to  a  number  of  birds  twittering  in  a  bush,  and  all 
piping  at  random,  each  one  striving  only  to  be  loud- 
est." 

The  salon  in  which  he  has  for  years  been  accustomed 
to  lament  over  the  decline  of  good  manners  no  longer 
exists.  Madame  de  Lambert  has  passed  away,  at  the 
age  of  eighty-six.  "In  her  circle  courtesy  was  a 
sentiment  of  the  mind,  and  humanity  dwelt  in  the 
heart.  The  politeness  which  has  taken  the  place  of 
courtesy  consists  of  an  infinity  of  words  without 
meaning;  while  humanity,  having  left  the  heart  for 
the  lips,  has  no  longer  any  base  of  esteem  or  affec- 
tion." 

The  Marquis  is  an  admirer  of  the  Cardinal-minister. 
"They  who  would  like  to  see  him  superseded,"  he 
says,  "  deny  him  the  genius  of  a  statesman,  and  con- 
demn his  policy  as  wanting  in  breadth  and  boldness. 
Yet,"  urges  the  Marquis,  in  the  warmth  of  his  attach- 


THE   CARDINAVS  PETIT  COUCHER.  221 

ment  to  the  old  cardinal,  "  he  has  given  proof  of  the 
possession  of  the  ministerial  qualities  of  justness  and 
solidity  in  his  views  and  intentions,  and  of  frankness 
and  good  faith  in  his  dealings  with  foreigners.  His 
policy  is  sufficiently  adroit  without  being  treacherous; 
he  is  clear-sighted  enough  to  discern  the  snares  and 
traps  laid  for  him  by  courtiers  who  would  displace 
him,  and  he  cleverly  avoids  them,  or,  at  times,  turns 
them  to  account,  without  resorting  to  perfidious 
means  or  adopting  Machiavellian  measures." 

Replying  to  the  questioning  of  the  ladies,  d'Argen- 
son  informs  them  that  he  was  present  on  the  previous 
evening  at  that  most  ridiculous  yet  amusing  spectacle, 
called  by  the  people  "/<?  petit  coucfur  of  the  Cardinal- 
king."  What  precedent  the  cardinal  could  produce 
for  assuming  such  a  prerogative  to  belong  to  the  post 
he  fills,  the  Marquis  declares  he  knows  not.  For 
Fleury  accepts  no  title  but  that  of  Minister  of  State, 
though  it  is  certain  that  the  whole  power  of  the  State 
is  in  his  hands — far  more  so,  and  more  uncontestedly, 
than  it  was  ever  possessed  by  Richelieu  by  means  of 
his  numerous  executions,  or  by  Mazarin  with  all  his 
intrigues. 

Every  evening  the  whole  of  the  court,  with  gentle- 
men, tradespeople,  the  idle  and  the  busy,  are  waiting  at 
the  doors  of  the  cardinal's  apartment.  When  his  emi- 
nence has  passed  into  his  dressing-room,  the  doors  are 
opened,  the  people  enter  and  assist  at  the  cardinal's 
preparations  for  bed.  They  see  him  divest  himself 
of  his  clothing,  put  on  his  night-shirt,  and  comb  his 
flowing  white  locks,  which  time  has  now  very  much 
thinned.  During  this  operation  he  speaks  of  the  chit- 
chat and  news  of  the  day,  interspersed  with  many  a  jest 
and  bon-motj  sometimes  good,  sometimes  bad,  but  all  of 


222  THE   OLD  R&GIME. 

which  are  laughed  at  and  applauded  by  his  auditors. 
Some  remonstrances  on  this  practice  of  joking  in  pub- 
lic were  addressed  to  him  by  the  Abbe  de  Pomprona, 
who  has  much  influence  with  the  old  cardinal,  and 
wished  to  convince  him,  without  actually  saying  so, 
that  his  joking  was  rather  undignified.  He  told  him 
an  epigram,  or  two,  then  current,  respecting  Xh^  petit 
coucher  itself.  But  Fleury  has  not  seen  fit  to  make 
any  change — believing  the  people  to  be  anxious  to  see 
him,  and  having,  as  he  said,  no  other  spare  time  in 
which  to  gratify  them  without  intruding  on  the  hours 
devoted  to  business  of  State. 

As  the  Marquis  ceases  speaking,  Mdlle.  Aisse,  or  the 
fair  Haidee,  as  she  is  sometimes  called,  rises  from  the 
sofa.  The  fair,  pale  face  is  suddenly  suffused  with  a 
roseate  glow;  the  large  soft  eyes  light  up  with  pleas- 
ure. How  graceful,  how  elegant  her  figure!  By  the 
beauty  that  remains,  one  perceives  how  beautiful  she 
must  have  been  in  the  first  blush  of  youth,  when  her 
charms  were  the  theme  of  general  admiration,  and  she 
was  celebrated  as 

"  Aiss6  quide  la  Gr6ce  6puisa  la  beaut6."* 

She  is  now  thirty-eight  or  thirty-nine  years  of  age;  a 
victim  of  consumption,  fading  away  daily,  though  she 
cannot  realize  what  is  clearly  apparent  to  all  but  her- 
self. The  change  from  languor  to  animation  has  been 
caused  by  the  entrance  of  the  Chevalier  d'Aidye,  a  rel- 
ative of  the  Marquis  de  Saint-Aulaire,  and  a  knight  of 
St.  John  of  Jerusalem.  It  is  the  dream  of  Haidee  that 
this  lover  of  hers  does  not  marry  her,  because  she  will 
not  consent  ^o  an  alliance  which  she  believes  prejudi- 

* '*  Aiss6  who  robbed  Greece  of  beauty." 


THE   SLEEP   OF  DEATH. 


223 


cial  to  his  interests.  Her  own  fortune  is  small,  and 
he  has  scarcely  at  command  the  means  and  influence 
to  purchase  a  dispensation  from  his  vow  of  celibacy, 
even  if  he  desired  it.  But  he  is  rather  the  adored  than 
the  adorer.  He  submits  to  be  loved,  and  the  love  lav- 
ished upon  him  is  so  strong,  so  true,  that  he  must  be 
marble-hearted  indeed  did  he  not  respond  to  it  with, 
at  least,  a  tender  pity  akin  to  love. 

But  Mdlle.  Alss^'s  chair  is  waiting.  The  Chevalier 
will  probably  escort  her  home.  Madame  de  Tencin 
and  her  guests  compliment  and  congratulate  the  beau- 
tiful Circassian  on  her  apparently  improved  health. 
She  looks  bright  and  happy  as  she  leaves  the  salon^ 
leaning  on  her  Chevalier's  arm.  But  she  has  exerted 
herself  unusually  to-day,  and  feels  much  fatigued  on 
arriving  at  her  home ;  so  much  so  that,  reclining  on 
a  sofa,  she  sinks  almost  immediately  into  a  deep  slum- 
ber. It  has  continued  an  hour  or  more,  yet  still  she 
sleeps;  she  stirs  not. 

The  Chevalier  waits  to  say  farewell.  He  is  a  great 
lover  of  the  chase,  and  is  about  to  leave  Paris  for 
awhile,  to  hunt  the  wild  boar  and  the  wolf  on  his 
estate  in  the  forest  of  Poitou.  He  approaches  the  sofa. 
He  is  struck  by  the  ashy  paleness  of  the  sleeper;  then 
raises  the  arm  that  hangs  listlessly  by  her  side.  Ah! 
how  cold!  how  nerveless.  All  know  that  touch,  and 
what  a  thrill  it  sends  through  the  frame — the  Cheva- 
lier's lady-love  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death! 

Many  had  been  the  guesses  and  speculations,  in 
years  gone  by,  as  to  the  real  origin  of  Mdlle.  Aiss6; 
but  latterly,  except  in  the  immediate  circle  in  which  she 
was  brought  up,  the  gay  world  had  almost  forgotten 
her.  She  had  withdrawn  from  it,  and  the  charm  of 
more  youthful  beauties  now  formed  the  subject  of  the 


224 


THE   OLD  REGIME, 


flattering  effusions  of  drawing-room  poets.  She  first 
came  to  France  at  about  the  age  of  four  years  with 
the  Comte  de  Ferriol,  French  Ambassador  at  the  court 
of  the  Sultan.  He  had  bought  her  for  three  hundred 
piasters  in  the  slave-market  at  Constantinople,  having, 
when  casually  passing  through  it,  been  struck  by  her 
childish  grace,  her  beauty,  and  her  tears.  He  named 
her  Haidee,  and  placed  her,  on  his  return,  with  his 
brother's  wife,  Madame  de  Ferriol,  to  be  carefully  ed- 
ucated during  his  further  absence  in  Turkey.  Not- 
withstanding this  story,  it  was  generally  believed  that 
the  little  girl  was  the  Count's  own  daughter,  and  her 
mother  the  very  handsome  Turkish  woman  who  came 
to  France  with  them,  and  resided  in  his  house  while 
he  remained  in  Paris. 

It  was,  however,  given  out  that  Haidee  was  actually 
a  Circassian  princess,  captured,  with  other  children  and 
women,  by  a  party  of  Turks  on  a  marauding  expedi- 
tion into  the  territory  of  the  prince,  her  father.  Indis- 
tinct memories  were  said  to  float  in  her  mind  of  the 
splendors  of  the  palace  that  was  her  early  home,  and 
were  received  as  confirmatory  of  M.  de  Ferriol's  ac- 
count of  his  protegee.  The  Count  provided  liberally 
for  her.  She  was  reared  in  luxury,  and  dressed  at  all 
times  as  befitted  the  rank  of  a  princess  and  her  superb 
Oriental  beauty 

The  hotel  Ferriol  was  the  resort  of  the  beaux  esprits 
of  the  dissolute  society  of  the  regency.  Madame  de 
Ferriol,  like  her  sister,  Madame  de  Tencin,  was  a  fre- 
quenter of  the  Palais  Royal,  and  was  the  friend  of 
Madame  de  Parabere  and  the  regent's  mistresses  gen- 
erally. In  this  corrupt  society  the  youthful  Haidee 
grew  to  womanhood.  She  says  of  herself,  "  I  have 
been    the    sport  of  the  passions."     But  by  and  by 


LES  D£yOTIONNETTES. 


225 


Madame  de  Ferriol  and  her  sister  became  what  the  old 
cardinal,  with  a  slightly  sarcastic  smile,  used  to  call 
^^  dfyjoiionnettesy  They  left  off  rouge,  went  daily  to 
mass  and  confessed.  Then  arose  Madame  de  Ferriol's 
anxiety  for  the  conversion  of  her  brother's  protdgie. 
But  already  she  was  half  converted.  She  had  fallen 
in  love  with  the  Chevalier,  and  desired  to  reform, 
fearing  that  she  was  unworthy  of  his  love.  "My  bad 
conduct  has  made  me  wretched,"  she  exclaims. 

Henceforth  the  Chevalier  is  all  the  world  to  her. 
Yet  still  she  continues  to  appear  at  the  theatre  with 
Madame  de  Parabere,  rather  naively  expressing  a  hope 
that  it  may  be  charitably  supposed  she  is  not  ac- 
quainted with  the  secrets  of  her  dissolute  life.  Vol- 
taire addressed  many  of  his  adulatory  verses  to  Mdlle. 
Aisse,  and  sometimes  corresponded  with  her.  The 
sons  of  Madame  de  Ferriol,  the  Marquis  de  Pont  de 
Veyle  and  le  Comte  d'Argental,  were  his  dear  angels. 
Naturally,  then,  she  had  her  full  share  of  the  poetic 
incense  he  distributed  so  lavishly. 

When  the  Comte  de  Ferriol  died,  he  left  his  adopted 
daughter  a  legacy  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  and  an  an- 
nuity of  four  thousand. 

It  would  seem  that  the  Due  d'Orleans,  son  of  the 
regent,  had  seen  and  admired  Mdlle.  Aiss6  at  the 
Palais  Royal  reunions.  Having  become  a  widower 
two  years  after  his  marriage  with  the  Princess  of 
Baden,  and  hearing  that  Mdlle.  Aiss6  had  left  off 
rouge  and  was  now  a  strict  devotee,  he  determined, 
after  due  consideration,  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife — a  la 
mat?!  gauche,  perchance;  or  he  may  have  thought  that, 
as  a  Circassian  princess,  she  was  eligible  as  regarded 
royal  birth;  for  his  ideas  concerning  the  affairs  of 
every-day  life  were  no  less  singular  than  his  religious 


226  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

views.  On  arriving  at  her  residence  on  his  matrimo- 
nial errand,  the  lady  was  not  at  the  moment  able  to 
receive  him.  While  waiting  for  her  appearance,  it 
happened  that  the  fastenings  of  some  portion  of  his 
clothing  gave  way.  He  was  much  struck  by  so  re- 
markable a  circumstance;  and,  with  devout  resigna- 
tion, received  it  as  a  warning  sign  from  on  high  that 
the  marriage  he  contemplated  was  not  one  of  those 
made  in  heaven,  therefore  not  approved  there. 

Congratulating  himself  on  being  spared  from  having 
run  counter  to  the  wishes  of  Providence,  he  addressed 
a  few  crazy  compliments  to  the  lady  and  took  his 
leave,  without  uttering  a  word  on  the  subject  to  which 
she  owed  his  visit.  He  was  known  to  be  not  quite 
compos  mentis,  so  that  his  eccentricities  rarely  excited 
surprise.  He  believed  neither  in  births  nor  deaths. 
When  told  of  the  death  of  Mdlle.  Aisse,  he  was  exceed- 
ingly angry,  said  it  was  impossible;  the  king  had  con- 
cealed her  to  keep  her  out  of  his  sight. 

A  daughter,  born  in  England,  when  Mdlle.  Aisse 
was  on  a  visit  to  the  Countess  of  Bolingbroke,  was 
christened  Celanie,  and  afterwards  brought  up  in 
France  at  the  Convent  of  Sens,  under  the  name  of 
Miss  Black.  In  those  very  unpleasing  letters  to 
Madame  Calendrini,  consisting  chiefly  of  idle  gossip 
concerning  the  depraved  society  of  her  day,  Mdlle. 
Aisse's  visits  to  this  daughter  are  sometimes  referred 
to.  In  1740  the  Chevalier  acknowledged  Miss  Black, 
and  she  left  her  convent  to  marry  the  Vicomte  de  Nan- 
thia — un  gentilhomme  de  Perigord. 

Voltaire,  writing  to  his  dear  angel  d'Argental,  in 
1 761,  mentions  the  death  of  the  Chevalier  d'Aidye, 
and  the  end  of  this  little  romance.  On  the  history  or 
legend  of  this  supposed  Circassian  princess  the  opera 
of  Haidee  is  thought  to  have  been  founded. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

Conspiracy  of  the  Marmosets. — The  Due  de  Gfivres. — The  Ducal 
Gambling-House. — An  Interesting  Invalid. — Court  Secrets. — 
Tapestry-Working  Statesmen. — The  Queen  grows  Jealous.— 
The  Coiffure  of  Madame  de  Gontaut. — Madame  de  Mailly. — 
The  King  accepts  a  Mistress. — The  Petits-Soupers  at  Choisy. 
—Stanislaus  Leczinski.— The  Brave  Br6hani  de  PI6I0.— The 
Court  of  Lorraine. — Death  of  Madame  de  Vintimille. 

Very  smoothly,  very  pleasantly,  would  have  glided 
on  the  life  of  the  aged  Cardinal- minister,  but  that, 
from  time  to  time,  theological  quarrels  were  forced  on 
his  attention  by  the  unquiet  and  domineering  spirit  of 
a  portion  of  the  clergy.  Still,  he  kept  on  the  even 
tenor  of  his  way,  on  the  whole  but  slightly  disturbed 
by  them.  If  his  ministerial  course  did  not  always 
prove  a  pathway  of  roses,  the  thorns  that  had  hith- 
erto beset  it  were  few. 

When  Mazarin  died,  the  chansonniers  wrote  what 
they  called  his  epitaph: 

"Ci  git  rEminence  deuxi^me, 
Dieu  nous  garde  d'un  troisiSme."* 

But  the  mild  sway  of  "  Son  Eminence  troisieme,'*  and  his 
economical  administration  of  the  finances,  already 
gave  more  than  a  promise  to  France  of  returning 
national  prosperity.  The  daily  prayer  of  the  people 
— as  the  best  blessing  that  heaven  could  bestow  on 

*  "  Here  lies  Cardinal  number  two, 
Heaven  defend  us  from  a  third." 


228  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

them — was  that  the  old  cardinal's  life  might  be  pro- 
longed, and  his  bodily  health  and  mental  vigor 
continue  unimpaired.  Clouds,  however,  were  begin- 
ning to  obscure  the  political  horizon.  There  were 
rumors  of  war  and  signs  of  domestic  annoyances. 
Of  the  latter  was  the  intrigue  named  the  "Conspir- 
acy of  the  Marmosets." 

The  Dues  de  Gevres  and  d'Epernon,  with  M.  de 
Coigny,  court  pages,  weary  of  the  monotony  of  the 
court,  and  of  so  unprecedented  a  state  of  things  as  a 
young  king  without  a  mattresse-eii-titre,  resolved  to 
attempt  to  bring  about  the  change  they  had  long 
vainly  been  waiting  for.  They  looked  on  the  cardinal 
as  the  cause  of  the  king's  persistent  indifference  to 
the  unceasing  attacks  made  upon  him  by  aspiring 
ladies.  By  insidiously  disparaging  him,  as  too  much 
attached  to  the  "Systeme  Antiquaille,"  they  hoped  to 
succeed  in  undermining  his  influence;  also  securing 
his  dismission.  The  Due  de  Richelieu  secretly  sup- 
ported these  views  of  the  younger  courtiers.  He  was 
a  favorite  with  the  king,  whose  ennui  he  sometimes 
dispelled  by  highly  embellished  narrations  of  his 
numerous  adventures.  He  would  also  gayly  rally  him 
on  his  "  extraordinary  virtue,"  and  laughingly  suggest 

that  the  beautiful  Mdlle.  de  A or  Mdme.  de  B 

might  almost  contest  the  palm  of  beauty  with  the 
queen. 

Louis  XV.  was  as  remarkably  taciturn  as  polite  and 
gracious  in  manner.  He  therefore  replied  not  to  this 
badinage  J  which  he  permitted  because  it  amused  him. 
He  smiled  only;  what  his  thoughts  were  it  would 
have  been  difficult  to  guess.  To  hint  at  the  cardinal's 
imperfections  was,  as  Richelieu  doubtless  knew,  more 
perilous  than  to    insinuate  that  there  were  younger 


THE  DUCAL   GAMBLING  HOUSE.  22^ 

and  fairer  women  than  the  queen.  He  did  not  venture 
to  attempt  it,  but  discreetly  left  that  hazardous  part 
of  the  intrigue  to  others. 

The  Due  de  Gevres  was  at  his  chateau  at  St.  Ouen, 
when  the  king  suddenly  took  a  fancy  to  employ  his 
idle  hours  in  working  tapestry,  as  so  many  gentlemen 
did  at  that  period.  Impatient  to  begin,  a  messenger 
was  despatched  immediately  to  Paris,  for  canvas  for 
the  seats  of  four  chairs,  wools,  silks,  needles,  and 
whatever  else  might  be  needed  for  his  undertaking; 
another  messenger,  at  the  same  time,  went  off  in  all 
haste  to  summon  the  Due  de  Gevres  to  Versailles.  He 
excelled  in  all  the  fashionable  gentlemanlike  needle- 
work of  the  day,  and  the  king  wished  for  instruction 
from  so  great  a  master  in  the  art.  The  duke  lived  in 
princely  style  at  St.  Ouen — chamberlains,  gentlemen 
of  the  household,  and  a  retinue  scarcely  less  numer- 
ous than  that  usually  accompanying  the  king.  Yet 
he  was  overwhelmed  with  debts,  and  his  estates  were 
mortgaged.  His  hotel  in  Paris  was  let  as  a  gambling- 
house,  and  from  his  share  of  the  proceeds  of  the  tables 
he  now  derived  his  sole  income.  It  was,  however,  a 
large  one;  for  gambling  had  become  a  mania  with  all 
classes. 

When  the  messenger  from  Versailles  arrived  at  St. 
Ouen,  the  duke,  slightly  indisposed  it  was  said,  was 
reclining,  supported  by  cushions,  on  a  couch  of  green 
and  gold  damask,  with  curtains  of  the  same,  looped 
back  by  green  ribands  and  roses.  He  was  wrapped 
in  a  wadded  robe  de  chambre  of  green  and  gold  silk; 
but,  as  a  covering  for  his  head,  instead  of  a  cap  of 
some  sort,  the  interesting  invalid  wore  a  gray  felt 
Henri  IV.  hat,  bordered  with  green  and  gold  and 
adorned  with  a  long  green  feather.     A  green  and  gold 


230  THE  OLD  rAgIME, 

coverlet  was  partly  thrown  over  him,  from  under 
which  peeped  forth  a  green  and  gold  slipper.  A  green 
and  gold  fan,  and  a  bunch  of  rue  for  a  bouquet,  lay  on 
the  couch;  a  green  and  gold  work-table  stood  beside 
it,  on  which  were  his  scissors  and  prints  for  applique. 
His  tapestry  frame  was  near  at  hand;  but  he  was 
then  amusing  himself  with  green  silk  and  gold  thread 
knotting. 

In  spite  of  his  distressingly  enfeebled  condition,  the 
duke  magnanimously  responded  to  the  call  of  his  sov- 
ereign. The  Due  d'Epernon  (whose  especial  weakness 
was  a  fondness  for  surgery,  and  who  always  had  a 
lancet  with  him;  being  ready  and  willing  to  bleed 
any  one  weak  enough  to  allow  him)  accompanied  his 
friend,  and  with  all  speed  they  proceeded  to  Versailles. 
The  king  had  received  the  materials  for  his  work,  and 
was  admiring  the  designs  for  his  chair  seats.  The 
young  Comte  de  Maurepas,  already  known  for  his 
caustic  remarks,  was  with  him.  After  listening  to  the 
eloquence  of  the  duke  on  the  subject  of  needlework, 
but  apparently  with  more  contempt  than  admiration, 
the  count  said,  addressing  the  king:  "Sire,  your 
majesty  is  far  more  courageous  than  your  great  an- 
cestor, Louis  XIV." 

"  How  so  ?"  inquired  the  king. 

"He,"  replied  Maurepas,  "would  never  undertake 
more  than  one  siege  (siege  or  seat)  at  a  time;  but  your 
majesty  has  the  courage  to  undertake  four." 

Whether  the  king  received  this  remark  as  compli- 
mentary or  otherwise,  we  are  not  informed. 

The  tapestry  work  afforded  the  Due  de  Gevres,  and 
the  other  courtiers  in  his  plot,  the  opportunity  they 
had  desired  of  impressing  their  views  on  the  mind  of 
the  king.     And  they  seem  to  have  brought  him  so 


TAPESTRY-WORKING  STATESMEN.         23 1 

near  to  their  way  of  thinking,  that  he  agreed  with 
them  that  the  cardinal  had  arrived  at  a  time  of  life 
when  the  business  of  State  must  naturally  be  a  bur- 
den, and  that  it  was  desirable  to  relieve  him  of  it.  His 
courtiers  were  delighted;  but  were  unwilling  to  have 
It  known  that  it  was  they  who  had  advised  the  dis- 
placement of  Fleury.  The  king  promised  absolute 
secrecy.  But  the  cardinal  had  more  friends  than  foes 
in  the  court.  Secrets  to  be  kept  there  "should  be 
dumb  to  very  walls."  But  this  secret  was  known  at 
Issy,  where  the  cardinal  was  staying,  the  very  next  day. 
Fleury  never  remonstrated.  Repairing  at  once  to 
Versailles,  he  tendered  his  resignation,  assigning,  as  a 
reason  for  so  doing,  those  considerations  urged  on  the 
king  by  the  Due  de  Gevres  on  the  previous  morning. 
The  king  was  confused;  he  seemed  as  one  conscience- 
stricken.  The  horrors  of  the  impending  situation  at 
the  same  time  rose  up  before  his  indolent  mind.  How 
was  he  to  carry  on  the  government  of  his  kingdom  if 
his  preceptor  were  not  at  his  elbow  to  direct  him  ? 
Where  find  a  minister  disinterested  and  able  as  Fleury 
had  proved  himself?  or,  if  as  able,  that  could  replace 
the  confidant,  the  friend,  the  parent  he  had  been  to 
him  from  childhood  ?  He  implored  the  old  cardinal 
still  to  keep  in  his  hands  the  guidance  of  the  helm  of 
State;  and  at  the  same  time  informed  him  who  were 
his  foes,  and  the  nature  of  their  counsels.  More  dis- 
posed to  be  amused  at  this  shallow  intrigue  than  to 
take  revenge  on  the  tapestry-working  statesmen,  the 
cardinal  thought  the  duke  and  his  companions  suffi- 
ciently punished  by  their  mortification  at  the  exposure 
of  their  schemes,  and  the  order  from  him,  as  minister, 
signed  by  the  king,  to  refrain  from  visiting  either 
Paris  or  Versailles  for  the  next  few  months. 


^3^  'TtiE   OLD  rAgIME. 

This  plot,  which  threatened  so  much  and  achieved 
so  little,  was  soon  after  the  theme  of  conversation  and 
laughter  in  the  salons  as  the  ''conspiracy  of  the  mar- 
mosets," an  epithet  which  did  not  tend  to  soothe  the 
vexed  feelings  of  its  authors.  However,  one  result  of 
this  intrigue  was  to  convince  the  court  that  the  reign 
of  Fleury  was  to  endure  to  the  end  of  his  days.  As 
he  had  passed  his  eightieth  year,  there  were  many  who 
believed  or  hoped  that  the  term  of  those  days  was 
nigh  at  hand.  Yet  it  was  generally  conceded  that  the 
king  must  at  once  be  roused  from  his  lethargy,  apathy, 
or  whatever  the  spell  might  be,  that  rendered  him  in- 
sensible to  the  blandishments  of  beauty,  and  blinded 
him  to  the  faded  appearance  of  the  queen.  The 
freshness  of  her  complexion  was  gone;  she  had  a  care- 
worn look,  and,  in  her  manner  generally,  there  was 
an  expression  of  languor.  With  her  seven  children 
grouped  around  her,  she  looked  staid  and  matronly 
as  a  woman  of  forty,  though  but  in  her  thirty-first 
year;  the  king  was  in  his  twenty-fourth,  and  probably 
more  remarkably  handsome  than  at  any  other  period 
of  his  life. 

Unfortunately,  the  queen  was  growing  jealous,  and, 
being  wanting  in  tact  and  spirit,  displayed  her  feel- 
ings ridiculously.  A  certain  Madame  de  Gontaut,  an 
exceedingly  pretty  woman,  whom  the  queen  sus- 
pected of  a  desire  to  supplant  her,  was  made  to  feel 
her  resentment  by  a  constant  fault-finding  with  her 
head-dress.  Whenever  she  made  her  appearance, 
dressed,  as  she  believed,  to  perfection,  poor  Marie 
Leczinska  would  single  her  out  for  disapproving  re- 
marks. Calling  her  to  her,  she  proceeded,  with  an 
affectation  of  graciousness,  to  remedy  the  supposed 
defective  arrangement  of  the  lady's  coiffure^  her  object 


Madame  de  maillv.  %y^ 

being  nothing  more  than  to  ruffle  and  disarrange  it, 
that  she  might  appear  to  disadvantage  in  the  eyes  of 
the  king.  It  was  a  very  poor  ruse^  and  caused  much 
amusement;  to  none  more  than  to  Madame  de  Gontaut 
herself — a  sparkling  brunette,  to  whose  beauty  a  slight 
dishevelment  of  the  hair  often  gave  added  piquancy. 

But  it  was  not  Madame  de  Gontaut,  but  Mdlle.  de 
Nesie — soon  after  Comtesse  de  Mailly — who  was 
destined  to  fill  the  honorable  post  of  mattresse-en-titre^ 
so  long  tantalizingly  kept  vacant.  She  has  been  com- 
pared to  the  Duchesse  de  la  Valliere;  but  except  that 
the  countess,  like  the  duchess,  was  a  king's  mistress, 
the  resemblance  between  them  is  not  striking.  Pre- 
vious to  a  full  assumption  of  the  new  dignity,  the  eti- 
quette seems  to  have  been,  presentation  to  the  queen, 
and  her  acceptance  of  her  rival,  whether  willing  or 
not,  as  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  palace. 

Madame  de  Mailly,  one  learns  with  surprise,  was  of 
the  Rambouillet  circle  (surely  a  stray  black  sheep  that 
had  slipped  in  unawares).  She  was  the  eldest  of  the 
five  daughters  of  the  Marquis  de  Nesle.  Richelieu 
had  remarked  her,  as  possessing  the  audacity  and 
effrontery  necessary  "  to  throw  herself  at  the  king's 
head,"  which  she  did  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  bac- 
chante: for  she  loved  the  juice  of  the  grape,  and 
especially  foaming  champagne,  which  she  challenged 
the  king  to  drink  with  her,  bumper  for  bumper.  In 
their  earlier  revels  amd  petits-soupers  she.  far  surpassed 
him  in  the  quantity  she  could  take  with  impunity. 
The  cardinal  is  said  to  have  approved  the  choice  of 
this  woman  as  a  mistress  for  the  king.  Perceiving 
that  a  mistress  was  inevitable,  he  looked  upon  her 
selection  as  an  affair  of  State.  Madame  de  Mailly  was 
considered  disinterested — attached  to  the  king,  in  fact. 


234  '^^^  ^^^  RJ^GIM^. 

She  would  therefore  be  an  inexpensive  superfluity, 
and  as  she  possessed  neither  ability  nor  ambition,  it 
was  not  likely  she  would  attempt  to  interfere  in  the 
concerns  of  government:  consequently  he  regarded 
her  as  the  most  eligible  of  the  many  noble  ladies  then 
contending  for  the  vacant  post. 

The  king  had  scarcely  a  voice  in  the  matter.  He 
neither  loved  nor  admired  Madame  de  Mailly.  He 
did  not  seek  her,  but  accepted  her  as  the  mistress 
provided  for  him,  with  the  same  apathy  and  indif- 
ference he  had  shown  when  provided  with  a  wife. 
Perhaps  no  young  man  was  ever  more  entirely  thrust 
into  vice  than  Louis  XV.  The  dissolute  men  and 
women  of  the  court,  reared  in  the  depraved  society  of 
the  regency,  long  despaired  of  his  becoming  one  of 
them.  But  the  first  plunge  taken,  unhappily,  none 
dived  deeper  into  the  slough  of  vice  than  he.  Fits  of 
remorse  oppressed  him  at  times,  and  he  continued 
strictly  to  perform  the  outward  duties  of  religion. 
The  queen,  unintellectual  and  full  of  narrow-minded 
bigotry,  was  incapable  of  exerting  any  beneficial  in- 
fluence upon  him.  The  more  he  became  alienated 
from  her,  the  more  humble  and  timid  did  she  appear 
in  his  presence;  though,  as  in  his  religion,  so  in  every 
mark  of  outward  respect  towards  his  wife,  he  was 
never  known  to  fail. 

Following  the  example  of  the  great  nobles  of  his 
court,  he  had  his  petite  maison — purchasing  Choisy 
for  that  purpose.  There  he  had  his  private  kitchen, 
fitted  up  with  every  requisite  for  the  practice  of  the 
art  of  which  he  was  so  efficient  an  a?nateur.  Wearing 
the  white  jacket,  apron,  and  cap  of  a  chef-de-cuisine,  he 
would  often  prepare  some  choice  dish,  to  regale  those 
of  his  intimates  who  were  admitted  to  share  in  the 


STANISLAUS  LECZINSKt.  23 $ 

orgies  of  the  petits-soupers  of  Choisy.  The  disorder 
that  prevailed  there  becoming  publicly  known,  so 
much  indignation  was  expressed  by  the  people  that 
the  cardinal  thought  it  right  to  remonstrate  on  such 
conduct.  The  king  replied,  "very  dryly,"  as  De 
Tocqueville  observes:  "I  have  abandoned  to  you  the 
conduct  of  my  kingdom,  I  hope  you  will  leave  me 
master  of  my  private  affairs." 

At  about  the  same  time  that  the  change  took  place 
in  the  habits  of  Louis  XV.,  news  was  received  of  the 
death  of  Augustus  of  Poland,  and  the  re-election  of 
Stanislaus  to  the  throne  he  already  had  found  so  un- 
stable a  seat.  He  was  by  no  means  desirous  of  re- 
suming so  uncertain  a  dignity.  Russia,  his  former 
foe,  favored  the  pretensions  of  another  Elector  of 
Saxony,  Augustus,  the  late  king's  son;  but  three 
fourths  of  the  nation  had  pronounced  in  favor  of  the 
deposed  King  Stanislaus.  Content  in  his  retirement 
at  Weissenberg,  he  still  made  it  a  point  of  honor  to 
respond  to  the  call  of  his  countrymen,  lest  it  should 
appear  to  them  that  his  courage  was  not  equal  to  his 
fortunes.  Yet  he  knew  from  experience  how  fickle  was 
the  temperament  of  this  "  nation  of  high-souled  cava- 
liers;" that  fidelity  was  not  to  be  relied  upon,  but 
rather  desertion  when  fidelity  should  most  be  needed. 

Without  money  or  troops — though  he  probably  de- 
pended on  aid  from  France — he  set  out  for  Poland, 
entered  Warsaw  in  disguise,  and  a  few  days  after  was 
proclaimed  king  by  his  partisans.  A  Russian  army 
of  ten  thousand  men,  commanded  by  the  famous  Gen- 
eral Munich,  with  auxiliary  troops  from  Austria,  had 
already  entered  Poland,  to  support  the  claims  of  the 
Elector.  The  partisans  of  Stanislaus  then  fell  away 
from  him,  or  were   quickly  dispersed;   he   escaping. 


236  THE  OLD  kiGIME. 

with  difficulty,  to  Dantzic,  where,  however,  he  was 
well  received.  There  he  awaited  the  French  troops. 
Neither  Louis  XV.  nor  the  cardinal — indisposed  as 
was  the  latter  to  engage  in  war — could  entirely  desert 
him.  A  small  detachment  of  fifteen  hundred  men  was 
therefore  embarked  in  two  or  three  of  the  crazy  old 
vessels  then  composing  the  French  navy. 

Dantzic  was  besieged  by  Munich  when  the  French 
troops  arrived  in  the  Sound.  The  futility  of  the  aid 
he  had  brought  induced  the  commander  of  the  expe- 
dition to  refrain  from  landing  his  men.  But  his 
return  to  France  was  opposed  by  the  young  Comte 
Brehant  de  Plelo,  the  French  Envoy  at  Copenhagen. 
He  thought  it  an  ignominious  flight,  dishonoring  to 
France;  and,  taking  upon  himself  the  command  of  the 
expedition,  Dantzic  was  again  approached.  The 
troops  were  disembarked,  and  the  first  Russian  line 
attacked;  but  the  daring  young  commander  was 
quickly  overpowered.  He  fell,  sword  in  hand,  fight- 
ing, and  covered  with  wounds.  He  had  anticipated 
such  a  fate;  but  resolved  to  brave  it,  to  save  the  honor 
of  the  French  name.  His  small  detachment  of  troops 
capitulated,  after  holding  out  for  some  time  in  the  ad- 
vantageous position  they  had  taken  up.  They  were 
sent  to  St.  Petersburg,  and,  by  command  of  the  Em- 
press Anne,  treated  with  marked  distinction. 

Dantzic  was  taken  by  the  Russian  general.  A  price 
was  set  on  the  head  of  Stanislaus,  who,  however,  aided 
by  some  of  his  followers,  contrived  to  leave  the  city 
unrecognized.  After  assuming  various  disguises,  and 
encountering  many  perilous  risks  and  hair-breadth 
escapes,  always  closely  pursued  by  the  enemy,  he  at 
last,  in  sad  plight,  but  in  safety,  reached  Marien- 
werder,  the  frontier  town  of  ducal  Prussia.  The  war 
that  followed  these  events  resulted  in  a  peace  which 


DEATH  OF  MDAtE.    DE    VINTIMILLE.         237 

gave  the  sovereignty  of  the  Duchy  of  Bar,  and  Prin- 
cipality of  Lorraine,  to  Stanislaus,  with  their  reversion 
to  France  at  his  death.  He  retained  the  title  of  king; 
but  renounced  all  claim  to  the  throne  of  Poland.  In 
the  course  of  this  war  the  two  great  generals  of  Louis 
XIV.  lost  their  lives — Marshal  Villars,  in  his  eighty- 
third  year,  and  Marshal  Berwick,  the  natural  son  of 
James  II. 

After  so  many  ups  and  downs  of  fortune,  Stanislaus 
was  very  comfortably  settled  in  the  evening  of  his  life. 
He  was  much  beloved  in  his  new  domains,  and  Lor- 
raine was  prosperous  and  peaceful  under  his  benig- 
nant rule.  It  became  the  fashion  to  pay  frequent 
visits  to  the  little  court  of  Lorraine,  where  there  was 
much  less  cold  etiquette,  and  far  more  geniality  and 
gayety,  than  at  Versailles:  just  as  the  palace  Stanis- 
laus built  for  himself,  in  imitation  of  that  grandiose 
structure,  was  less  stately  in  appearance,  but  infinitely 
more  desirable  as  a  dwelling.  The  happy  ending  of 
her  father's  troubles  was  a  consolation  to  the  queen, 
in  the  midst  of  the  many  vexations  that  besefher,  and 
the  frequent  mortifications  she  was  subjected  to  in  the 
dissolute  French  court. 

Madame  de  Mailly  no  longer  reigned  at  Versailles. 
Like  Stanislaus,  she  had  twice  been  deposed  and  re- 
elected. In  the  intervals,  she  left  off  rouge,  confessed, 
and  sojourned  for  awhile  at  the  Carmelites.  The 
death  of  her  successor  had  just  occurred;  and  Louis, 
in  silence  and  solitude,  was  bemoaning  his  widowed 
condition,  and  refusing  to  be  comforted.  Madame  de 
Vintimille  had  died  suddenly,  and,  as  usual,  poison 
in  some  form — perfumes,  gloves,  or  billets-doux — was 
suspected;  suspicion,  on  this  occasion,  glancing  at 
Madame  de  Mailly,  and,  more  absurdly  still,  even  look- 
ing askance  at  the  old  cardinal. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Jean-Jacques  Rousseau. — The  Salon  of  Mdme.  Dupin. — Jean- 
Jacques  and  Mdme.  de  Crequy. — Feigned  Confidences. — Jean- 
Jacques  Returns  to  Paris. — Voltaire's  Grand  Homme. — Un 
Mari,  ^  la  Mode  Louis  XV. — Voltaire's  "Mahomet." — D6but 
of  Mdlle.  Clairon. — A  Triumph. — Sensation  for  the  Salons. 

In  the  autumn  of  1741,  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau — 
whom,  after  a  wandering  aimless  life,  we  now  first 
hear  of  in  Paris — had  lately  arrived  from  Venice, 
where  he  had  cultivated,  to  a  certain  extent,  a  natural 
taste  for  music.  Undue  confidence  in  his  musical  tal- 
ent, and  in  the  value  of  some  pleasing  but  simple  com- 
positions, flattered  him  with  the  hope  of  an  artistic 
career.  He  had  invented,  as  he  supposed,  a  new  sys- 
tem of  musical  notation  by  figures,  which  he  was  de- 
sirous of  explaining  in  a  discourse  addressed  to  the 
members  of  the  Academie  des  Sciences.  In  August, 
1742,  M.  Reaumer  procured  him  the  opportunity  he 
sought,  and  Jean-Jacques  developed  his  scheme  to  a 
committee  of  qualified  musicians,  of  whom  Rameau, 
now  in  merited  repute,  was  one. 

To  his  immense  disappointment,  Rousseau  learned 
that  his  system  was  not  new,  and  that  it  had  been 
already  pronounced  impracticable.  He  was  then 
thirty  years  of  age;  eaten  up  by  vanity;  burning  with 
a  desire  for  notoriety;  "  willing  to  be  hanged,"  as  Vol- 
taire said,  "  could  he  but  have  been  gratified  by  his 
name  being  placed  on  the  scaffold,"  An  operatic 
trifle,  "  Les  Muses  Galantes,"  was  the  means  of  intro- 


THE   SALON  OF  MDME.    DUPIN. 


239 


ducing  him  to  M.  de  La  Popliniere,  at  whose  private 
theatre  it  was  performed,  and  met  with  the  approval 
of  a  friendly  audience. 

But  Rousseau's  ambition  soared  far  beyond  the  rep- 
utation of  an  amateur;  and  his  arrogance,  no  less  than 
his  ignorance,  was  displayed  in  his  remark  on  the 
works  of  Rameau,  whose  life  had  been  spent  in  the 
scientific  study  of  music,  to  which  he  had  been  led 
by  enthusiastic  love  of  it  from  childhood.  "  Away 
with  these  distillers  of  barrack  harmonies!"  exclaimed 
Jean-Jacques,  in  his  jealousy;  while  believing  also  that 
Rameau  had  seen  a  rival  in  him  and  his  "  Muses 
Galantes."  Irritable,  restless,  distrustful,  capricious, 
morbidly  sensitive,  a  martyr  to  hypochondria,  Jean- 
Jacques  sometimes  awakened  sympathy,  which  he 
either  repelled  with  brutality  or  rewarded  with  base 
ingratitude;  while  those  who  endeavored  to  serve  him 
he  hated  and  maligned.  Idealized  in  a  hundred  vol- 
umes, a  hundred  years  after  his  deaLli,  he  no  doubt 
appears  a  very  different  person  from  tlie  Rousseau 
known  to  his  contemporaries.  But  with  such  specu- 
lations these  pages  are  not  concerned. 

As  secretary  in  the  family  of  the  rich  fermier-g6n6- 
ral,  Dupin,  Rousseau  next  appears  on  the  scene.  He 
has  described  the  salon  of  Mdme.  Dupin  as  frequented 
by  the  most  distinguished  society  in  Paris.  Wealth, 
beauty,  rank  and  learning;  foreign  ambassadors,  great 
noblemen  and  titled  ladies,  forming  her  circle,  accord- 
ing to  Jean-Jacques.  It  may,  however,  be  considered 
a  somewhat  exaggerated  account  of  un  salon  bourgeois. 
At  this  time  he  was  "quite  a  handsome  young  man," 
Madame  de  Crequy  informs  us,  in  the  memoirs  edited 
by  M.  Chanloup.  He  had  called  on  Madame  de  Cre- 
quy, on  the   part  of  Madame  Dupin,  to  inquire  into 


240  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

the  character  of  a  servant.  The  great  lady  was  sur- 
prised that  the  dame  bourgeoise  should  send  to  her  for 
information  of  that  nature,  and  was  about  to  desire 
the  messenger  to  make  his  inquiries  of  her  steward, 
when  a  something  in  the  expression  of  his  countenance, 
she  says,  interested  her. 

Instead  of  acting  on  her  first  impulse  and  curtly  dis- 
missing him,  she  desired  he  would  wait  awhile.  On 
inquiry,  it  appeared  that  the  discharged  servant,  being 
a  Protestant,  had  been  unwilling  to  attend  prayers  in 
the  private  chapel  of  the  chateau.  The  orthodox 
steward  had  therefore  dismissed  him.  On  hearing 
this,  Jean-Jacques,  in  a  melancholy  tone,  informed 
Madame  de  Crequy  that  he,  too,  was  a  Protestant, 
also  a  Swiss.  This  induced  the  lady  to  question  him 
further,  and  they  were  deep  in  theological  argument 
when  the  Nuncio  was  announced. 

Rousseau  had  been  humbly  standing,  hat  in  hand, 
while  Madame  de  Crequy  reasoned  with  him  on  his 
heresy.  He  was  now  motioned  to  a  seat,  which,  in  the 
utmost  confusion,  he  stumbled  into  (his  awkwardness 
was  excessive),  and  the  conversation  then  turned  on 
Switzerland,  which  Jean-Jacques  described  in  the 
glowing  language  of  one  carried  back  in  imagination 
to  the  loved  and  regretted  scenes  of  his  youth.  Ma- 
dame de  Crequy  was  convinced  that  M.  Rousseau, 
although  a  heretic,  possessed  great  cleverness  and  a 
warm  heart,  with  much  learning  and  candor  of  dispo- 
sition. She  told  him  she  would  be  glad  to  see  him 
again,  and  when  he  took  leave,  rose  from  her  seat  to 
bid  him  farewell.  This,  above  all  things,  pleased  him. 
"He  needed  it,"  he  said,  "as  an  encouragement,  and 
to  put  him  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  the  great." 
*'  The  noble,  or  rather  ignoble,  savage"  was  then  con- 


JEAN-JACQUES  RETURNS   TO  PARIS,         24 1 

cealed  under  the  mask  of  obsequiousness,  and  an  air 
of  mock  humility.  A  few  more  years  were  required 
fully  to  develop  "  the  natural  man." 

In  the  course  of  subsequent  visits  to  Madame  de 
Crequy,  she  discovered  that  he  amused  her  with 
"feigned  confidences."  Naturally  she  was  annoyed; 
but  excused  it,  because  she  perceived,  she  said,  "  that 
he  had  more  illusions  in  his  head  than  want  of  truth 
in  his  character" — a  judgment  in  which  leniency  and 
truth  were  combined.  He  had  an  illness,  it  appears, 
about  this  time.  On  his  recovery  he  obtained,  through 
the  influence  of  the  Dupin  family,  the  post  of  private 
secretary  to  M.  de  Montaigu,  then  leaving  Paris  for 
Venice,  as  ambassador.  This  engagement  continued 
for  nearly  two  years,  but  with  so  much  mutual  dis- 
satisfaction that  it  is  surprising  it  lasted  so  long.  In 
1745  Jean-Jacques  returned  to  Paris,  poor  in  purse  and 
with  but  gloomy  prospects  for  the  future.  He  was  pre- 
paring that  pretty  little  opera,  "  Le  D6vin  du  Village." 
It  was  to  his  music  he  looked  for  success.  He  was 
also  reading  and  studying.  As  a  writer  his  talent 
was  scarcely  yet  known  even  to  himself.  Somewhere 
about  this  time  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Grimm 
and  Diderot;  but,  as  Marmontel  says,  "Jean-Jacques 
had  not  yet  taken  color." 

Voltaire  had  been  in  Paris  occasionally  only  for 
several  years.  He  says  in  those  brief  "  Memoires  de 
M.  de  Voltaire,  6crites  par  lui-meme:"  "I  was  weary 
of  the  idle  and  turbulent  life  of  Paris;  of  the  crowd 
of  fops;  of  the  worthless  books  printed  *with  the 
king's  approval  and  permission;'  and  of  the  mean- 
nesses and  plagiarisms  of  the  paltry  wretches  who 
dishonored  literature,  when,  in  1733,  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  a  lady  whose  opinions  were  much  the 


242  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

same  as  my  own.  She  had  taken  the  resolution  to 
spend  several  years  in  the  country,  far  from  the 
tumult  of  society,  in  order  to  cultivate  her  mind. 
This  lady  was  the  Marquise  du  Chatelet." 

She  was  Voltaire's  "  respectable  Emilie,"  sometimes 
"  the  divine,"  "  the  beautiful,"  "  the  sublime."  He  rep- 
resents her,  with  much  exaggeration,  as  rivalling 
Madame  Dacier  in  classical  learning.  She  was  a  phi- 
losopher, of  course,  a  mathematician,  metaphysician, 
geometrician,  free-thinker,  and  "  great  man."  Voltaire 
spent  six  years  with  her  at  her  chateau  at  Cirey,  on  the 
frontiers  of  Lorraine — a  dilapidated  old  chateau,  of 
which  the  friends,  in  the  intervals  of  their  literary  pur- 
suits, superintended  the  repairing  and  embellishing. 
There,  too,  they  received  the  visits  of  the  philosophers 
and  savants  who  passed  that  way;  the  amiable  Emilie's 
courtesies  to  her  learned  guests  often  exciting  bitter 
pangs  of  jealousy  in  the  breast  of  Voltaire.  For  Em- 
ilie had  a  susceptible  heart,  "great  man"  though  she 
was,  not  only  in  the  complimentary  sense  in  which 
Voltaire  applied  the  epithet,  but  personally  also  in 
her  outward  appearance. 

She  resembled  "an  ugly  grenadier,"  says  her  cousin, 
Madame  de  Crequy;  and  all  her  learning  she  profanely 
describes  as  "a  sort  of  indigestible  hotch-potch."  The 
Marquis  du  Chatelet  was  Lieutenant-general  of  the 
province  of  Lorraine.  A  strict  observer  of  the  mari- 
tal etiquette  of  the  Louis  XV.  period,  he  never  in- 
truded on  the  learned  leisure  of  his  wife  and  her 
"guide,  philosopher,  and  friend." 

It  was,  however,  in  the  solitude  of  Cirey  that 
Voltaire  wrote  "Alzire,"  "Merope,"  "  L'Enfant 
Prodigue,"  and  "Mahomet,"  and  began  his  "Histoire 
generale  depuis  Charlemagne,"  etc. 


VOLTAIRE'S  ''  MAIIOMETr  343 

A  lawsuit  then  obliged  Madame  du  Chatelet  to  take 
a  journey  to  Brussels.  Voltaire  accompanied  her;  and, 
her  legal  business  terminating  in  her  favor,  she  be- 
came the  possessor  of  the  splendid  Hotel  Lambert, 
in  the  He  St.  Louis,  where  she  received  the  philoso- 
phers of  extremest  opinions,  and  the  prosiest  and 
profoundest  of  the  savants.  But  as  this  terrible  blue- 
stocking gave  little  or  no  heed  to  suppers  and 
dinners,  even  the  most  learned  animals  of  the  world  of 
philosophy  preferred  the  salon  and  well-spread  table 
of  the  more  hospitable  Madame  de  Tencin. 

Voltaire,  on  returning  to  Paris,  was  desirous  of 
producing  his  play  of  "  Mahomet,"  at  the  Th^dtre 
Fran9ais.  It  had  been  played  at  Lille,  in  i74i,ashe 
wished  to  judge  of  its  probable  effect  before  bringing 
it  out  in  Paris.  While  present  at  its  first  representation 
at  Lille,  a  note  from  the  King  of  Prussia,  informing 
him  of  the  victory  at  Molwitz,  was  received  by  Vol- 
taire, who  immediately  read  it  to  the  audience.  "  You 
will  see,"  he  said  to  them,  "how  this  victory  will  lead 
to  another."  But  this  can  scarcely  be  called  wit — 
rather  it  was  clap-trap  that  appears  to  have  answered 
the  purpose  he  intended.  The  play  of  "  Mahomet " 
was  submitted  to  Crebillon  in  Paris.  The  censor 
condemned  it.  Voltaire  complained  to  Fleury,  who 
reversed  the  judgment  of  Crebillon,  and  the  play  was 
produced  with  great  success.  He  afterwards,  when 
seeking  admission  to  the  academy — objection  being 
taken  by  Bishop  Boyer  to  this  work — sent  it  to  the 
Pope,  Benedict  XIV.,  who  replied  very  courteously, 
adding  a  gold  medal  to  his  thanks  for  the  "  Bellissima 
tragedia."  Mdlle.  Dumesnil  played  the  heroine  with 
her  accustomed  ability,  and  contributed  greatly  tow- 
ards its  success. 


244 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


The  theatre  was  well  attended  at  this  period.  The 
greater  part  of  Voltaire's  plays  had  been  written  and 
produced,  and  had  proved  attractive.  The  company- 
was  also  highly  talented.  Mdlle.  Quinault  had  re- 
tired to  enjoy  her  ample  fortune  in  private  life, 
though  still  comparatively  young  and  at  the  height  of 
her  fame.  "  La  belle  d'Angeville"  shone  as  a  sou- 
brette,  and  Mdlle.  Dumesnil  was  still  unrivalled  in 
high  tragedy,  when  a  new  debutante  was  announced. 
The  dSbut  of  a  new  actor  or  actress,  or  the  first  repre- 
sentation of  a  new  play,  was  sure  to  bring  an  over- 
flowing audience,  filling  every  part  of  the  house,  and 
crowding  the  stage.  The  debutante,  on  this  occasion, 
was  a  young  actress  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  who  for 
some  years  had  wandered  with  itinerant  companies 
from  theatre  to  theatre  through  the  provinces,  play- 
ing in  tragedy  or  comedy,  or  taking  the  role  of  prima 
donna  in  operatic  pieces,  and  preiniere  danseuse  in  a 
ballet. 

She  had,  however,  gained  some  reputation  at  Rouen 
in  the  leading  soubrette  parts,  and  was  now  engaged  to 
play  alternately  with  Mdlle.  d'Angeville  in  the  same 
line  of  characters.  For  her  debuts^  to  the  surprise  of 
the  whole  company,  she  selected  three  tragedy  parts, 
the  opening  one  being  Phedre,  the  favorite  part  of 
Mdlle.  Dumesnil.  Her  presumption  astonished  the 
great  actress,  and  excited  general  ridicule.  Curiosity 
brought  a  larger  audience  than  usual,  and  an  igno- 
minious failure  was  anticipated. 

The  curtain  rises.  The  expected  Abigail  enters. 
Many  of  the  audience  had  seen  her  at  Rouen;  but  few 
— except  that  they  are  aware  it  is  Mdlle.  Clairon's 
debut  they  are  to  witness — would  recognize  her  in  that 
Stately  actress,  who  trends  the  stage  with  the  dignity 


SM/iSATIO/^  FOR   THE  SALONS,  ^5 

and  grace  of  a  finished  artiste.  Perhaps  now  for  the 
first  time  they  notice  her  finely  chiselled  features,  her 
noble  brow,  and  air  of  command;  little  suited  indeed 
to  a  lively  soubrette^  but  which  full  well  become  Ph6- 
dre.  Her  voice,  too — so  full  in  its  tones,  so  clear, 
deep,  and  impassioned — at  once  makes  its  due  impres- 
sion on  her  hearers. 

Mdlle.  Clairon  has  certainly  taken  her  audience  by 
surprise,  and  the  town  by  storm;  for  they  perceive 
that  a  great  actress  is  before  them.  Her  supposed 
foolish  vanity  is  found  to  be  conscious  talent.  The 
opportunity  had  come  for  its  development;  she  has 
fully  justified  the  confidence  she  felt  in  her  own  pow- 
ers, and  it  is  unanimously  acknowledged  that  what 
she  attempted  she  has  done  well,  even  more  than  well 
—grandly. 

Three  young  men  of  rising  literary  reputation- 
Diderot,  d'Alembert,  and  Grimm — witnessed  this  first 
appearance  of  Mdlle.  Clairon  in  tragedy.  They  had 
expected  an  amusing  rather  than  an  edifying  per- 
formance. Now,  they  eagerly  seek  the  young  actress 
to  offer  their  congratulations,  before  leaving  the  thea- 
tre to  spread  her  fame  in  the  salons. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Death  of  Cardinal  Fleury. — His  Government  of  France. — Pro- 
posed Monument  to  Fleury. — Disappointed  Ambition. — 
Threatened  Descent  on  England. — A  Rival  to  Maurice  de 
Saxe. — Seeking  Refuge  at  Versailles. — The  King's  Hospi- 
tality.— The  "Mutual  Friend." — The  Cardinal's  Successor. — 
Going  to  the  Wars. — A  Solemn  Thanksgiving. — Mdme.  Le 
Normand  d'Etioles. — Illness  of  the  King. — "  Le  Bien-Aim6." 
— Louis'  Letter  to  the  Duchess. — Death  of  the  Duchess. — Her 
Last  Words. 

Great  changes  had  taken  place  in  France  during 
the  last  four  years,  both  politically  and  socially. 
There  had  been  war;  many  notabilities  had  passed 
away  from  the  stage  of  life,  and  new  celebrities 
had  appeared.  In  1736  died  Louis  XIV.'s  favorite 
son,  the  Due  du  Maine.  His  widowed  duchess  had 
since  reappeared  in  society,  and  received  the  beaux 
esprits,  at  Sceaux,  with  even  greater  Mat  than  before. 
The  Rambouillet  circle  was  broken  up;  the  Comte  de 
Toulouse — several  years  the  duke's  junior — having 
died  in  1737.  His  son,  the  Due  de  Penthievre,  had 
gone  to  the  wars,  and,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  had 
distinguished  himself  at  the  battle  of  Dettingen — that 
battle  so  disastrous  to  France,  the  ally  of  Charles 
Albert  of  Baviere,  then  contending  with  Maria  Theresa 
for  the  Empire  of  Germany. 

The  Marquis  de  Fleury,  nephew  of  the  cardinal,  was 
killed  in  that  battle,  and  not  long  after — January  29, 
1743 — the  cardinal  died  at  Issy,  while  the  war,  under- 
taken contrary  to  his  wishes  and  advice,  was  still  rag- 


CARDINAL  FLEURY.  247 

ing.  He  had  completed,  within  two  or  three  months, 
his  ninetieth  year,  and  the  seventeenth  of  his  govern- 
ment. Rarely  has  any  statesman  begun  his  public 
career  so  late  in  life,  or,  having  done  so,  retained 
power  so  long. 

He  was  still  in  full  possession  of  his  mental  facul- 
ties, but  was  oppressed  with  anxious  fears  as  to  the 
result  of  the  war,  and  disturbed  at  the  large  expendi- 
ture of  the  public  money  it  necessitated.  His  policy 
had  been  so  essentially  a  policy  of  peace  and  concilia- 
tion, that  he  had  not  thought  it  necessary  even  to  be 
ready  for  war,  in  order  the  better  to  ensure  a  continu- 
ance of  peace.  "  Peace  without,  economy  within,"  was 
his  political  motto,  and  the  heaviest  charge  brought 
against  him,  as  minister,. was  that  in  his  condescension 
towards  other  nations,  and  fear  of  displeasing  them, 
he  sacrificed  too  much  for  the  love,  or  the  need,  of 
peace. 

Unlike  Richelieu  and  Mazarin,  Fleury  left  no  for- 
tune to  his  family.  Two  or  three  recently  conferred 
empty  titles  and  honors,  and  the  post  of  Premier  gen- 
tilhomme  de  la  chambre^  to  his  nephew,  de  Rosset,  was 
all  they  derived  from  him.  The  revenue  of  his  bene- 
fice was  his  only  income.  His  tastes  were  simple;  he 
was  opposed  to  any  assumption  of  state,  or  ostenta- 
tious parade.  He  had  amassed  no  gold  or  silver  plate, 
no  collection  of  treasures  of  art.  The  furniture  of  his 
small  establishment  comprised  only  what  was  useful 
and  good,  without  ornament;  its  value  was  estimated 
at  not  more  than  five  thousand  ecus.  "  He  governed 
France,"  writes  De  Tocqueville,  "  as  he  governed  his 
own  well-regulated  small  household,  with  the  strictest 
order,  exactness,  and  economy."  The  reputation  of  a 
g^eat  minister  was  denied  him,  but  he  was  regretted 


548  ^-^-^   OLD  REGIME. 

throughout  France  as  a  just  and  honorable  one,  who 
possessing  great  power,  used  it  to  promote,  to  the  best 
of  his  abihty,  the  welfare  of  the  people  and  the  pros- 
perity of  the  nation. 

As  every  event,  however  serious,  was  then  seized 
upon  for  the  subject  of  an  epigram,  it  was  said,  when 
the  cardinal  died,  that  "  France,  having  been  ailing  for 
the  space  of  a  hundred  years,  had  been  treated  succes- 
sively by  three  physicians,  all  attired  in  red.  The 
first  (Richelieu)  had  bled  her;  the  second  (Mazarin) 
had  purged  her;  and  the  third  (Fleury)  had  put  her 
on  a  diet." 

The  king,  with  the  Dauphin,  visited  him  constantly 
during  his  last  illness,  which  was  rather  a  gradual 
sinking  of  nature  than  any  decided  malady.  Brought 
up  hy  him,  accustomed  to  obey  him,  to  confide  in  him, 
and  to  look  upon  him  as  a  father,  Louis  XV.,  natu- 
rally, was  much  affected  by  the  death  of  the  aged  car- 
dinal; more  so,  probably,  than  by  any  other  bereave- 
ment or  occurrence  of  his  life.  He,  for  a  long  time, 
proposed  to  erect  a  monument  to  his  memory,  and 
was  often  engaged  with  Soufflot,  the  architect,  in 
tracing  designs  for  one.  But  as  his  sorrow  subsided, 
his  natural  indolence  and  the  pleasures  of  his  dissolute 
court  gradually  effaced  from  his  mind  the  memory  of 
Fleury,  and  the  proposed  monument  never  was  exe- 
cuted. 

The  Cardinal  de  Tencin,  who  owed  his  ba?'retta  to 
the  Chevalier  Saint-George,  had  expected  to  succeed 
to  Fleury's  post.  But  the  king,  in  his  last  conversa- 
tions with  the  cardinal-minister,  had  been  counselled 
by  him  to  take  the  reins  of  government  into  his  own 
hands,  and  he  resolved  to  follow  his  counsels.  All  the 
intrigues  of  Madame  de  Tencin  and   her  friends,  to 


THREATElfED  DESCENT  ON  ENGLAND, 


249 


obtain  for  her  brother  the  coveted  appointment, 
proved  ineffectual — the  honorary  title  of  minister,  with 
a  seat  in  the  council  chamber,  but  with  neither  port- 
folio nor  emolument,  was  the  limit  of  her  success. 
De  Tencin  had  bound  himself,  in  return  for  his  eleva- 
tion to  the  cardinalate,  to  support  the  cause  of  the 
Pretender,  and  to  urge  on  the  king  the  invasion  of 
England.  Though  without  any  real  weight  in  the 
council,  he  could  at  least  lift  his  voice  in  behalf  of  the 
Chevalier.  He  did  so,  and  pleaded  his  cause  so 
warmly  that  both  king  and  council,  apparently,  were 
gained  over  to  his  views. 

All  that  he  asked  was  granted.  As  many  vessels  as 
Brest  and  Rochefort  could  muster  and  fit  out  were 
assembled  to  embark  troops.  The  king  declared  war 
against  England,  and  Prince  Charles  Edward  left 
Rome  to  join  the  French  and  to  put  himself  under  the 
guidance  of  Mar^chal  de  Saxe.  These  preparations, 
however,  were  actually  made  for  a  very  different  ob- 
ject from  the  ostensible  one.  The  threatened  descent 
on  England  concealed  a  real  intention  of  invading 
Holland.  The  fleet  put  to  sea,  but  neither  England 
nor  Holland  could  be  reached.  A  violent  storm  arose 
— the  ships  were  scattered;  some  were  lost,  others, 
much  disabled,  contrived  to  return  to  France.  The 
expedition  was  at  an  end,  for  there  was  no  other  fleet 
to  fit  out,  and  the  cardinal  and  his  sister  lamented 
together  over  their  inability  to  evince,  as  they  had 
proposed,  their  gratitude  to  the  Chevalier — "  But  never 
mind!"  exclaimed  Richelieu,  who  found  Madame  de 
Tencin  in  tears.  "  We  have  at  least  shown  him  the 
attention." 

According  to  some  writers,  one  of  the  most  poignant 
sorrows  of  the  old  cardinal-minister's  last  days  was 


550  I'tJE   OLD  rAGIME. 

the  prospect  he  saw  of  the  evil  influence  of  a  mistress 
on  the  affairs  of  State.  He  had  already  been  accused 
of  jealousy  of  Madame  de  Vintimille.  Death  had  re- 
moved her  from  his  path,  but  in  her  successor,  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tournelle,  he  foresaw  for  the  king  even 
greater  cause  for  alarm.  The  former  was  plain  in 
feature,  but  lively,  witty,  and  ambitious.  The  latter, 
from  the  imperiousness  of  her  manner,  had  gained  the 
name  of  "/c?  grande  princesse."  She  was  a  young 
widow,  very  beautiful;  ambitious  of  power,  and  lofty 
in  her  sentiments — being  fond  of  heroes,  and  deter- 
mined to  make  of  Louis  XV.  a  hero,  and  a  rival  to 
Maurice  de  Saxe,  whom  she  especially  admired. 

As  her  sister  was  compared  to  Madame  de  la  Val- 
liere,  so  she,  with  as  little  reason,  was  likened  to 
Agnes  Sorel.  It  should  rather  have  been  Madame 
de  Montespan.  She  had  acquired  so  much  influence 
over  the  king,  by  a  system  of  artful  coquetry,  and  an 
assumption  of  grand  airs,  that  to  gratify  her,  he 
seemed  likely  to  become  as  prodigal  as  hitherto  he 
had  been  parsimonious — prodigal  of  the  public  money, 
of  course  (now  that  there  was  no  cardinal  to  remon- 
strate), not  of  his  own  private  hoards,  even  for  the 
beautiful  Madame  de  la  Tournelle.  This  lady  was  a 
protigde  of  the  Due  de  Gevres — again  high  in  favor — 
and  the  Due  de  Richelieu,  who  had  become  the  con- 
fidant of  the  king  and  his  instructor  in  vice.  To 
excite  his  curiosity,  they  made  her  beauty  their  con- 
stant theme  of  admiration,  and  arranged  her  intro- 
duction to  him  in  a  very  singular  and  unusual  manner. 

She  and  her  sister,  Madame  de  Flavacourt,  had 
been  residing  with  their  grandmother,  the  Duchesse 
de  Mazarin,  who  dying  at  this  time,  and  her  hotel 
being  inherited  by  the  Comte  de  Maurepas,  the  sisters 


THE  KINGS  HOSPITAUTV.  2%\ 

were  compelled  to  seek  another  abode.  The  duchess 
having  been  danie  autour  de  la  rdtUy  had  an  apartment 
at  Versailles.  Taking  advantage  of  this,  Madame  de 
la  Tournelle  had  the  audacity,  on  leaving  the  Hotel 
Maurepas  —  having  concerted  with  her  friends  —  to 
order  her  chair  to  be  carried  to  Versailles  when  the 
king  and  his  courtiers  were  taking  the  usual  prom- 
enade on  the  terrace.*  She  alighted  in  front  of  the 
palace,  and  dismissed  her  chair-men,  to  the  great  sur- 
prise of  the  grandees  assembled  there — de  Gevres  and 
de  Richelieu  excepted.  After  greeting  the  lady,  and 
conversing  with  her  for  a  few  minutes,  the  Due  de 
Gevres  announced  to  the  king  that  this  was  the  young 
and  beautiful  Madame  de  la  Tournelle.  That,  driven 
from  the  home  of  her  late  relative,  she  had  come  to 
seek  a  temporary  refuge  in  the  duchess's  apartment 
in  the  royal  chateau. 

The  lady  was  then  led  forward  and  presented  to 
the  king  by  the  Due  de  Richelieu.  His  majesty  saw 
that  she  was  young  and  fair,  and  was  almost  as  much 
charmed  by  the  naivete  of  her  proceeding  as  with  her 
beauty.  "  He  rallied  her  on  her  enterprise,"  Soulavie 
tells  us,  and  assigned  her  an  apartment  in  the  palace. 
He  also  gave  shelter  to  Madame  de  Flavaeourt  under 
his  hospitable  roof.  The  simple  Marie  Leezinska  re- 
ceived Madame  de  la  Tournelle  very  kindly,  and  both 
she  and  her  sister  were  added  to  the  list  of  her  ladies 
in  waiting.  But,  alas  for  the  king!  the  hand  of  the 
fair  widow  is  sought  by  the  handsome  young  Due 
d'Agenois,  to  whose  merits,  she  allows  it  to  be  known, 
she  is  by  no  means  insensible.     She  keeps  much  to 

*  All  the  old  usages  and  etiquette  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV. 
were  still  rigidly  kept  up. 


25:2  tt}E  OLD  MGIMM. 

her  apartments  also;  does  not  always  accept  the  invi- 
tation— for  she  acknowledges  no  command — to  share 
in  the  convivialities  of  the  petits-soupers  at  Choisy. 
Her  pretext  is  a  very  bad  cold;  so  that  the  king 
enjoys  but  little  of  her  society.  When  she  does  ap- 
pear, she  is  usually  so  muffled  up  in  an  ample  coiffe — 
being  fearful  of  increasing  her  cold,  or  taking  a  fresh 
one  in  the  draughty  corridors  of  Versailles — that  his 
majesty  obtains  but  an  occasional  furtive  glimpse  of 
the  beautiful  face  he  longs  to  leisurely  gaze  on. 

Carried  on  for  months,  this  tantalizing  system  be- 
comes wearisome.  It  is  intimated  to  Madame  de  la 
Tournelle  that  she  will  do  well  to  retire  from  the 
court.  Then  steps  in  the  "  mutual  friend," — the  in- 
famous debauchee — the  Due  de  Richelieu.  He,  now 
nearer  fifty  than  forty,  is  the  assiduous  flatterer  of  the 
passions  of  the  king.  Honor  suffers,  no  doubt;  "  but 
what  matter?"  as  he  would  say,  "favor  is  increased." 

The  handsome  d'Agenois  may  have  a  face  as  hand- 
some as  the  king's,  but  he  has  a  remarkably  light 
purse.  He  cannot  transform  Madame's  small  estate  of 
Chateauroux  into  a  wide  domain  and  a  duchy,  and  add 
to  its  modest  revenue  eighty  thousand  livres  yearly. 
That  is  a  feat  which  the  king  performs.  Also,  he  pre- 
sents her  with  the  royal  letters  or  documents  in 
which  it  is  stated  "we  have  created  our  well-beloved, 
etc.,  a  duchess  for  her  virtue  and  merit/'  enclosed  in 
a  richly  jewelled  casket.  All  the  girlish  mischievous- 
ness  she  had  hitherto  assumed  at  once  disappeared, 
and  the  same  haughty  defiant  air  adopted  by  the 
Marquise  de  Montespan  towards  the  timid  queen  of 
Louis  XIV.  poor  Marie  Leczinska  was  compelled  to 
tolerate  in  her  lady  of  honor,  the  stately  Duchesse 
de  Chateauroux,  now  inaitresse-en-titre. 


THE   CARDINALS  SUCCESSOR.  2^3 

Fleurj^'s  advice  to  the  king  to  dispense  with  a  first 
minister,  ^nd  to  take  the  duties  of  that  office  on  him- 
self, she  warmly  approved.  But  his  indolence  and  in- 
difference were  so  great  that  he  would  scarcely  give 
himself  the  trouble  even  to  attend  to  affairs  left  in- 
complete at  the  cardinal's  death — "  he  does  not  seem 
to  notice  what  takes  place  in  his  kingdom,"  writes 
Madame  de  Tencin,  *'  but  he  amuses  himself  with 
directing  a  secret  policy."  "The  king's  secret"  was 
no  secret  at  all,  and  the  aimlessness  and  futility  of  his 
so-called  secret  policy  prevented  it  from  greatly  em- 
barrassing his  ministers  in  the  conduct  of  public 
affairs.  To  certain  propositions  made  to  Louis  XV. 
by  Frederick  of  Prussia  the  duchess  counselled  him 
to  accede.  Having  done  so,  she  tossed  aside  his  em- 
broidery frame,  commanded  him  to  gird  on  his 
sword,  and  to  equip  himself  for  making  the  approach- 
ing campaign  in  Flanders. 

What  a  sensation  it  caused  at  Versailles!  Who 
shall  describe  the  consternation,  from  the  queen  down 
to  the  most  insignificant  lackey — for  the  news  spread 
with  astonishing  rapidity,  from  the  grand  salon  to  the 
scullery — when  the  Due  de  Richelieu  announced  that 
Madame  de  Chateauroux  had  exacted  from  the  king 
a  promise  to  place  himself  at  the  head  of  his  armies? 
That  she  should  consent  to  separate  herself  from  her 
lover  was  no  less  surprising  than  the  unwonted  energy 
of  the  king.  It  had  not  been  understood  that  she, 
too,  was  going  to  the  wars — though  it  was  known  that 
the  mistresses  of  Louis  XIV.  had  shared  the  dangers 
of  that  great  warrior-hero's  expeditions,  and  that  in 
his  triumphal  progress  through  conquered  lands 
"  three  queens  "  accompanied  him.  It  was,  however, 
ascertained   at  the    ante-chamber  the  next  morning 


254  ^-^^  ^^'^  REGIME. 

that  the  duchess  also  was  going,  after  taking  leave  of 
the  queen,  and  that  the  king  would  receive  her  at 
Epernay.  "  She  was  to  fight  at  his  side,"  said  one 
report.  "  He  had  named  her  his  aid-de-camp," 
said  another.  It  was,  indeed,  a  fertile  theme,  this 
going  to  the  wars,  for  bon-mots,  epigrams,  and  jests. 

It  appears,  too,  to  have  been  almost  a  party  of 
pleasure.  Elegant  carriages,  filled  with  still  more 
elegant  ladies,  thronged  the  roads  leading  to  Nancy 
and  Metz.  The  king  had  already  performed  prodi- 
gies of  valor  when  Mdme.  la  Duchesse  arrived,  and, 
to  celebrate  the  taking  of  a  fortress  at  which  he  had 
assisted,  a  Te  Deum  was  about  to  be  said,  or  sung,  in 
the  Cathedral  of  Lille.  The  duchess  arrived  in  her 
carriage.  Men  and  women  of  rank  and  a  crowd  of 
young  officers  vied  with  each  other  in  pressing  for- 
ward to  congratulate  her.  Presently  arrived  the  king, 
to  take  part  in  the  solemn  thanksgiving.  He  was  on 
horseback,  and  surrounded  by  a  brilliant  staff — booted 
and  spurred,  a  clanking  sword,  a  waving  plume,  and 
ah!  so  divinely  handsome.  Just,  too,  as  the  hero  had 
ridden  from  the  terrible  field  where  his  deeds  of  valor 
had  been  done,  he  entered  the  old  stately  cathedral. 

Most  considerately,  his  prie-dieu  was  placed  imme- 
diately opposite  the  enclosed  seat  set  apart  for  the 
duchess;  as  though  that  were  the  altar  where  he  would 
most  naturally  desire  to  pay  his  vows  and  to  find 
acceptance.  "  Radiantly  happy  she  looked,"  we  are 
told.  A  noble  pride  lighted  up  her  beautiful  face,  and 
added  lustre  to  her  large  dark  eyes.  For  the  wish  of 
her  heart  was  accomplished.  She,  at  last,  had  a  lover 
worthy  of  her — a  lover  who  was  both  a  hero  and  a 
king. 

Amongst  the  gay  throng  that  filled  the  cathedral^ 


MDME.   LE  NORM  AND  LfETIOLES, 


255 


and  placed  where  a  full  view  of  the  triumphant  dame 
and  her  royal  lover  was  obtained,  there  looked  ear- 
nestly upon  them  a  lady,  elegantly  dressed,  young  and 
fair  as  the  duchess,  and  no  less  ambitious  and  unscru- 
pulous, but  infinitely  more  talented — it  was  Madame 
le  Normand  d'Etioles.  Her  husband  had  brought  her 
hither  to  see  this  fine  show  and  "  the  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance of  war."  But  where  was  the  queen  ?  At 
home,  praying  in  her  oratory — poor  simple-minded 
woman.     She  should  have  said  her  prayers  at  Lille. 

Balls  and  fetes  followed  the  thanksgivings,  and  ban- 
quets too;  for  Soubise  was  there,  with  Marin  and  his 
subordinates  and  an  army  of  scullions.  The  reviews 
were  on  a  very  grand  scale.  Bezenval  says  a  hundred 
thousand  men  were  there,  besides  the  forty  thousand 
comprising  the  army  of  reserve  under  the  Mar^chal 
de  Saxe.  The  campaign  opened  with  the  siege  of 
M6nin;  the  king,  at  first,  as  ardent  and  valorous  as 
before;  but  suddenly,  either  from  weariness  or  ennuiy 
he  seemed  to  lose  all  interest  in  the  war,  no  longer 
showed  himself  to  his  army,  and  passed  his  time 
chiefly  in  the  society  of  the  duchess  and  her  sister, 
Madame  de  Lauraguais.  On  the  8th  of  August,  while 
a  Te  Deum  was  being  sung  for  the  successful  besieg- 
ing of  Chateau-Dauphin,  the  king  was  taken  ill.  The 
next  day  malignant  fever  developed  itself,  and  pro- 
gressed rapidly.  The  Due  du  Richelieu  and  Madame 
de  Chateauroux  affected  to  disbelieve  that  he  was  in 
danger,  and  allowed  no  one  but  themselves  in  his 
apartment. 

The  young  Due  de  Chartres,  son  of  the  pious  Due 
d'Orleans,  forced  the  consigne,  as  representative  of  his 
father,  first  prince  of  the  blood,  who  alone  had  the 
right  to  do  so.     With  him  was  Fitz-James,  Bishop  of 


256  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

Soissons.  He  explained  to  the  king  his  danger;  then 
confessed  him,  and,  after  Madame  de  Chateauroux, 
by  his  order,  conveyed  to  her  by  Count  d'Argenson, 
had  been  desired  to  leave  Metz,  gave  him  absolution 
and  administered  the  last  sacraments.  The  bishop 
was  also  authorized  by  Louis  XV.  to  publicly  express 
his  regret  for  the  flagrancy  of  his  life,  and  the  evil 
example  he  had  set  his  people. 

While  the  duchess  was  escaping  from  the  threat- 
ened vengeance  of  the  populace,  in  a  carriage  lent 
her  by  the  Marechal  de  Bellisle,  Marie  Leczinska  and 
the  dauphin  were  on  their  way  to  Metz;  where  they 
were  received  by  the  king,  then  convalescent,  with 
every  appearance  of  pleasure  and  affection.  The  news 
of  his  illness  and  danger  had  reached  Paris  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  The  churches  were  opened,  and 
the  people  arose  from  their  beds  and  thronged  to  them 
to  pray  for  his  recovery.  Their  grief  and  distress 
were  unbounded.  Day  and  night  eager  crowds  sur- 
rounded the  houses  of  the  ministers,  hoping  to  learn 
that  some  change  for  the  better  had  taken  place.  On 
the  14th  the  disease  took  a  favorable  turn,  and  a  courier 
was  the  next  day  despatched  to  Paris  with  the  news 
of  his  convalescence.  Transports  of  delight  hailed 
the  news.  The  streets  rang  with  the  joyous  cry,  "  Our 
king  is  well  again."  The  courier  who  brought  the 
welcome  intelligence  was  carried  in  triumph  through 
the  city,  and  he  and  his  horse  were  nearly  suffocated 
by  the  kisses  and  embraces  of  the  multitude,  in  the 
excitement  of  joy. 

Louis  speedily  recovered,  and,  after  the  siege  of 
Fribourg,  returned  to  Paris.  The  ardent  enthusiasm 
of  the  welcome  he  received  momentarily  affected  him, 
and  he  asked — as  well  he  might — "what  he  had  done 


LOUIS:  LETTER    TO    THE  DUCHESS. 


257 


to  merit  so  much  love."  But  "  Le  bien  aim6,"  the 
surname  with  which  he  was  from  time  to  time  distin- 
guished, was  not  derived  from  the  spontaneous  cry  of 
a  devoted  people,  so  much  as  from  the  gayly  launched 
epithet — taken  up  and  repeated  by  the  almanacs — of 
one  Vade,  whom  Voltaire  calls  "scoundrel."  But  all 
enthusiasm  soon  ceased.  Louis  was  fearfully  bored 
by  it.  It  seemed  to  indicate  an  expectation  on  the 
part  of  his  subjects  that  the  evil  example  which,  when 
the  fear  of  death  was  before  his  eyes,  he  acknowledged 
he  had  set  them  was  now  to  give  place  to  a  more 
reputable  course  of  life.  This  was  far  from  congenial 
to  him,  and  he  became  cold  and  ceremonious  in  his 
behavior  to  the  queen;  evinced  great  repugnance 
towards  the  dauphin  and  covertly  was  seeking  to 
renew  his  liaison  with  the  duchess,  whose  "^V/i  aim^' 
he  alone  cared  to  be. 

She  was  assiduously  playing  sick-nurse  to  the  young 
Due  d'Agenois,  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  Italian 
campaign.  For  her  royal  lover  she  affected  a  supreme 
contempt  that  annoyed  him  excessively.  The  cour- 
tiers, perceiving  where  his  inclinations  lay,  began  to 
praise  the  firm  and  noble  conduct  of  Madame  de  Cha- 
teauroux  under  the  trying  ordeal  she  had  passed 
through  at  Metz.  This  gratified  the  king.  Im- 
mediately, Maurepas,  whom  the  duchess  regarded  as 
her  enemy,  was  despatched  with  a  letter,  and  further 
was  charged  to  inform  her,  verbally,  that  "  his  ma- 
jesty had  no  knowledge  of  what  had  occurred  at  Metz; 
that  his  esteem  for  her  remained  unchanged,  and  that 
he  begged  she  would  return  to  the  court  and  resume 
her  office  of  maid  of  honor  to  the  queen."  She  ap- 
peared so  well  satisfied  that  she  extended  her  hand 
towards  Maurepas,  who  respectfully  knelt  and  kissed 


258  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

it.  Later  in  the  day,  d'Argenson,  who  had  delivered 
the  order  for  her  and  her  sister's  retirement  from 
Metz,  appeared  with  a  list  of  the  courtiers  and  min- 
isters enclosed  in  a  letter  from  the  king,  requesting 
her  to  erase  the  names  of  those  whom  she  would  wish 
banished  from  the  court.  She  obeyed.  D'Argenson's 
name  was  the  first.  The  next  day  she  fell  ill — per- 
haps from  the  excitement  of  her  triumph — took  to 
her  bed,  and,  after  an  illness  of  a  few  weeks,  died  on 
the  4th  of  December,  1744. 

Maurepas  and  d'Argenson  were  both  suspected  of 
poisoning  the  letters  they  were  charged  to  convey  to 
her.  That  Jesuit  priests,  commissioned  by  the  con- 
fessors of  the  queen  and  the  dauphin,  had  put  arsenic 
in  a  box  of  bonbons  the  king  was  accustomed  to  send 
to  her  daily — and  which  were  made  by  himself — was 
another  mode  of  poisoning,  as  unlikely  as  the  first,  by 
which  her  death  was  accounted  for. 

The  duchess  was  the  second  of  the  mistresses  of 
Louis  XV.  who  had  died  within  a  year  or  two  of  each 
other.  "You  know  whether  I  have  desired  your 
glory,"  were  her  last  words  to  him,  when  he  visited 
her  on  her  death-bed. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Luxurious  Style  of  Living.— The  King's  First  Campaign. — Mar- 
riage of  the  Dauphin. — An  Eflfeclive  Riding-Costume. — Pre- 
sented at  Versailles. — "  Le  Roi  S'amuse." — Throwing  the 
Handkerchief. — An  Invitation  to  Travel. — The  Queen's  Dame 
du  Palais. — La  Marquise  de  Pompadour. — The  Royal  Will 
and  Pleasure. 

During  the  ministry  of  Cardinal  Fleury,  economy 
was  the  order  of  the  day  in  the  royal  household.  The 
needs  of  the  State  and  the  financial  embarrassments 
resulting  from  the  "Syst^me  Law"  had  made  re- 
trenchment an  absolute  necessity,  and  the  simple 
tastes  and  domestic  habits  of  both  king  and  queen 
had  enabled  them  readily  to  conform  to  it.  Many  of 
the  nobility,  whose  fortunes  had  suffered  from  the 
speculative  mania,  had  been  glad  to  avail  themselves 
of  the  example  of  royalty,  and,  by  curtailing  super- 
fluities, in  some  measure  to  retrieve  their  losses. 

But  very  shortly  after  the  death  of  the  cardinal,  a 
great  and  general  development  of  luxury  took  place 
in  the  style  of  living,  both  amongst  the  courtiers  of 
Versailles  and  the  beau  monde  of  Paris,  as  well  as  the 
rich  bourgeoisie.  The  reins  of  power  had  fallen  from 
the  hands  of  a  frugal  minister  into  those  of  a  favorite 
of  high-flown  sentiments  and  extravagant  tastes,  and 
with  a  fondness  for  pomp  and  parade.  In  the  un- 
usual lavishness  of  the  king,  in  his  gifts  to  this 
haughty  dame,  the  courtiers,  doubtless,  saw  the  near 


260  THE  OLD  REGIME, 

realization  of  their  long-cherished  hopes  of  a  brilliant 
court,  presided  over  by  a  powerful  mattresse-en-titre, 
and  at  once  prepared  for  the  much-desired  change — 
society,  generally,  following  their  example. 

But  had  the  Duchesse  de  Chateauroux  lived,  it  is 
doubtful  whether,  with  Louis*  extremely  indolent 
temperament  and  confirmed  dislike  of  showing  him- 
self prominently  in  public,  her  dream  of  conducting 
her  lover  in  triumph  through  the  career  of  glory 
marked  out  for  him  would  ever  have  been  fulfilled. 
No  less  doubtful  was  the  nation's  endurance  of  a  re- 
petition of  the  vainglorious  martial  promenades  and 
distantly  viewed  sieges  that  were  so  gratifying  to  the 
vanity  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  so  disastrously  ruinous  to 
his  subjects.  In  a  domestic  sense,  the  results  of  the 
king's  first  campaign  had  proved  extremely  annoying 
to  him.  It  was  not  the  death  of  the  duchess — though 
he  mourned  her  loss  nearly  a  whole  month — she 
might  be  worthily  replaced  from  among  the  number 
of  "  court  ladies"  vying  with  each  other  to  obtain 
the  preference — but  the  intense  dislike  he  had  con- 
ceived for  the  dauphin,  arising  out  of  the  scene  at 
Metz. 

Louis  believed  that  he  saw  in  him  signs  of  joy;  an 
assumption  of  airs  of  command,  and  ill-concealed  de- 
light at  the  prospect  of  shortly  succeeding  to  the 
throne.  The  silly  speech  attributed  to  him  when  he 
first  heard  of  his  father's  dangerous  condition — 
"  Poor  people,  whose  only  dependence  is  a  child  of 
my  age,"  certainly  sounds  more  like  a  lesson  he  had 
learnt  for  the  occasion  than  the  spontaneous  utter- 
ance of  a  boy.  But  whichever  it  may  have  been,  it 
was  extremely  displeasing  and  offensive  to  the  king. 
The  more  so  as    it  was  diligently  repeated  by  the 


MARRIAGE  OF  THE  DAUPHIN.  261 

Jesuits,  or  queen's  party,  and  greatly  lauded,  as  giving 
promise  of  much  thoughtfulness  for  his  people  in  the 
expected  youthful  ruler  of  France.  It  was,  however, 
received  with  a  sneer  by  the  courtiers,  who  preferred 
the  rule  of  a  king  s  mistress  to  the  rule  of  the  Jesuit 
priesthood.  And  of  these  two  great  evils  which  was 
the  lesser  it  may  have  been  difficult  to  decide. 

The  dauphin,  at  the  time  the  king's  life  was  de- 
spaired of  at  Metz  (August,  1744),  ^^ad  not  quite  com- 
pleted  his  fifteenth  year.  He  was  then  betrothed  to 
the  Infanta,  Maria  Theresa,  and  in  January  following 
the  marriage  was  solemnized.  The  city  of  Paris 
celebrated  the  auspicious  event  with  great  magni- 
ficence, and  gave  several  balls  and  public  fStes.  At 
one  of  the  masked  balls,  Madame  le  Normand  d'Eti- 
oles  was  present,  unmasked.  The  king  also  was  there, 
but  disguised  as  a  miller.  As  soon  as  he  perceived 
the  fair  lady  sitting  alone  on  a  sofa,  he  took  a  seat  by 
her  side,  and,  believing  himself  unrecognized,  began, 
as  he  imagined,  to  mystify  her  by  entering  into  a  con- 
versation respecting  the  royal  hunt  in  the  forest  of 
SenarL 

Madame  d'Etioles  was  accustomed  to  attend  these 
hunts;  her  husband's  chateau  being  situated  on  the 
borders  of  the  forest.  As  she  invariably  contrived,  in 
the  course  of  the  hunt,  to  cross  the  king's  path  once 
or  twice,  she  had  been  observed  by  Madame  de 
Chateauroux;  who,  suspecting  her  object,  bestowed 
glances  on  her  would-be  rival  that  surely  would 
have  annihilated  her  could  they  have  taken  the 
effect  desired.  Madame  d'Etioles  was  distinguished 
amongst  the  ladies  who  joined  the  king's  hunting- 
party  for  her  skill  as  a  horsewoman.  She  was  ex- 
tremely well   mounted;    had    a    fashionable   hunting 


262  THE   OLD  RiGIME. 

equipage  in  attendance  to  convey  her  home,  and  was 
conspicuous  for  the  elegance  of  her  riding-dress.  In 
accordance  with  the  picturesque  taste  of  that  day,  it 
was  of  velvet,  of  the  full  bright  blue  known  as 
"/W/  du  roiy*'  Qind  fastened  with  richly  chased  gold 
buttons.  Her  hat  was  of  felt,  of  the  same  color, 
edged  with  gold  cord,  and  adorned  with  a  waving 
white  plume.  It  was  a  highly  effective  costume,  in 
the  contrast  of  its  color,  with  that  of  the  surrounding 
foliage,  and  had  not  escaped  the  king's  notice.  He 
had  spoken  admiringly  of  it,  as  glimpses  were  caught 
of  its  graceful  wearer  flitting  along  the  paths  of  the 
forest. 

But  the  hunting-parties  came  to  an  end  when 
Madame  de  Chateauroux  carried  off  her  hero  to  the 
wars.  The  beautiful  Madame  d'Etioles  might  then 
have  faded  out  of  his  memory,  if  she  had  not  already 
taken  the  precaution  of  persuading  her  husband  to 
have  her  presented  at  Versailles  by  the  Princesse  de 
Conti.  This  grande  dame^  who  was  overwhelmed  with 
debts,  and  was  a  devotee  of  the  gambling-table,  made 
her  presentations  a  source  of  income.  Ambitious 
ladies,  who  had  no  other  means  of  approaching  roy- 
alty, might  make  sure  of  securing  the  good  offices  of 
the  princess,  if  they  could  afford  to  send  her  a  valua- 
ble present  that  was  readily  convertible  into  cash.  Its 
object  was  perfectly  understood:  it  was  a  mere  affair 
of  "  exchange  for  a  presentation."  If  the  applicant 
had  been  both  liberal  and  judicious  in  the  choice  of  an 
offering,  the  princess  performed  her  part  of  the  bar- 
gain with  the  best  possible  grace.  In  the  case  of 
Madame  d'Etioles,  she  declared  that  she  had  the  great- 
est satisfaction  in  presenting  at  Versailles  one  of  the 
prettiest  women  in  France. 


THROWING  THE  HANDKERCHIEF,  263 

Though  the  death  of  Madame  de  Chateauroux  had 
occurred  so  recently,  the  attentions  of  the  king  to 
Madame  d'Etioles  had  been  already  sufficiently  marked 
to  inspire  jealousy  and  alarm  in  her  husband.  He 
was  desperately  in  love  with  his  wife,  poor  man.  Her 
presentation  at  court  opened  no  palace  gates  to  him; 
but  he  was  tortured  with  the  suspicion  that  it  had 
opened  the  doors  of  Xhc  J>^tits-af>parUmenis  to  her. 

Louis  XV.  was  no  stranger,  then,  to  Madame 
d'Etioles  when  she  met  him  in  the  ball-room  of  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  though  she  did  not  immediately  recog- 
nize him.  But  his  voice,  which  he  had  not  the  power 
of  disguising,  always  betrayed  him,  and  few  persons 
were  present  to  whom  the  jovial  miller's  identity  was 
a  mystery,  while  he  fancied  his  disguise  perfect.  The 
lady,  however,  was  discreet,  and  after  a  little  lively 
badinage  joined  the  dancers;  dropping  her  handker- 
chief, perhaps  designedly,  as  she  rose  from  her  seat. 
The  king  picked  it  up,  and  for  awhile  appeared  unde- 
cided what  to  do  with  it  At  last,  suddenly,  as  it 
seemed,  a  bright  thought  occurred  to  him,  and,  cross- 
ing the  ball-room,  he  presented  the  handkerchief  to 
Madame  d'Etioles,  with  a  very  low  bow,  and,  as  re- 
ported, a  very  gallant  compliment,  though  it  reached 
only  the  ears  for  which  it  was  intended. 

"  He  has  thrown  the  handkerchief  !  He  has  thrown 
the  handkerchief !"  exclaimed  the  masks,  grouping 
around  him,  and  taking  advantage  of  their  own  and 
the  king's  disguise  to  pester  him  with  piquant  witti- 
cisms, and  sarcastic  remarks  on  the  excellence  of  his 
taste.  This  induced  his  majesty  to  beat  a  retreat,  and 
exchange  the  dusty  miller  costume  for  a  Turkish  one; 
which  would  have  been  more  appropriate  had  he  worn 
it  before  the  ceremony  of  throwing  the  handkerchief. 


264  THE   OLD  rAgIME. 

What  a  fine  theme  for  the  salons^  this  so-called 
"  throwing  the  handkerchief  "!  For  all  Paris  and  Ver- 
sailles knew  the  next  day  of  the  king's  public  "act 
of  graciousness "  towards  the  beautiful  Madame 
d'Etioles. 

"  Handsome  if  you  like,  but  bourgeoise  nevertheless," 
exclaimed  Madame  de  Tencin,  who  had  been  one  of 
the  intimates  of  Madame  de  Chateauroux,  and  who, 
now  getting  into  years,  had  become  very  severe  in  her 
strictures  on  "  the  loose  morals  of  these  bourgeoises 
ladies,"  who  presumed  to  follow  the  vicious  example 
of  their  betters.  Perceiving  the  designs  of  Madame 
d'Etioles  on  the  king,  Madame  de  Tencin  had  for 
some  time  made  it  a  point  of  conscience  sedulously  to 
endeavor  to  thwart  them. 

"  She  is  a  presumptuous  bourgeoise^''  cries  another 
indignant  marquise  or  comtesse,  who  cannot,  or  who 
will  not,  believe  that  the  much-coveted  distinction  of  • 
succeeding  Madame  de  Chateauroux  can  possibly  be 
conferred  on  any  but  a  lady  of  the  higher  nobility. 
Yet,  on  the  very  evening  that  the  incident  of  the  hand- 
kerchief took  place,  there  were  far-seeing  courtiers 
and  court  ladies  also,  at  the  ball,  who  bestowed  the 
most  gracious  of  smiles  and  flattering  compliments 
on  the  lady  whom  the  king  had  delighted  to  honor. 

A  very  different  view,  however,  was  taken  of  the 
honor  paid  to  his  wife  by  M.  le  Normand  d'Etioles. 
When  it  came  to  his  ears,  "he  made,"  we  learn,  "a 
frightful  uproar;"  threatened  to  shut  up  Madame, 
and  to  appeal  to  the  Parliament  against  the  tyranny 
of  the  king  in  destroying  the  peace  and  happiness  of 
families  by  his  dissolute  life.  The  result  of  this  out- 
spoken indignation  was  the  rescue  of  his  wife  from 
the  seclusion  with  which  he  had  threatened  her,  and 


THE  QUEEN'S  DAME  DU  PALAIS.  265 

an  invitation  to  himself  to  travel.  He  was  free  to 
choose  in  what  direction — England,  Italy,  or  elsewhere. 
He  had  but  to  name  the  country,  and  the  Mousque- 
taires  of  M.  le  Lieutenant  would  have  the  honor  of 
escorting  him  to  the  frontier.  He  chose  Italy.  But 
exile  did  not  silence  his  tongue.  He  continued  to  in- 
veigh, in  no  measured  terms,  against  the  character 
and  conduct  of  the  king,  until  a  communication  from 
the  Papal  government  bade  him  cease,  or  take  the 
consequences  of  his  folly. 

Madame d'Etioles,  in  the  mean  time,  was  successfully 
installed  at  Versailles.  One  of  the  dames  du  palais 
having  resigned,  the  king  desired  that  she  should  suc- 
ceed to  the  vacant  post  Poor  Marie  Leczinska  ven- 
tured mildly  to  oppose  it,  and  proposed  a  candidate 
of  her  own.  The  king  replied  that  the  lady  was  not 
of  the  required  rank.  The  queen  retorted  that  she 
was  certainly  of  much  higher  birth  than  Madame 
d'Etioles.  But  Louis  XV.  did  not  choose  to  argue  the 
point.  He  silenced  the  queen  as  it  was  customary 
with  him  to  silence  all  opposition  to  his  wishes,  "yir 
U  veux"  he  said  with  a  very  determined  air;  and  ac- 
cordingly the  new  favorite  was  presented  to  the  queen, 
again  by  the  Princesse  de  Conti,  as  one  of  her  ladies 
of  the  palace,  and  an  apartment  assigned  her.  Ma- 
dame d'Etioles  was  on  this  occasion,  as,  indeed,  she  is 
said  always  to  have  been,  highly  respectful  in  her 
manner  towards  the  queen,  who,  expecting  another 
haughty  Madame  de  Chateauroux,*  was  surprised  at 

*  Full  of  superstition,  and  with  a  great  fear  of  ghosts,  Marie 
Leczinska,  when  she  heard  of  the  death  of  the  Duchesse  de  Cha- 
teauroux at  Versailles  (where  it  was  not  etiquette  for  any  but  royal 
personages  to  die),  became  timid  and  alarmed  at  nightfall,  in 
expectation    of    a    ghostly   visit    from    the    deceased.      An    old 


266  ^^-^  OLD  kEGtM&. 

the  change,  and  received  La  Marquise  de  Pompadour 
not  only  with  less  repugnance,  but,  for  a  time,  with 
some  show  of  favor. 

The  king  had  raised  Madame  d'Etioles  to  the  need- 
ful rank  by  conferring  on  her  the  title  of  the  extinct 
noble  family  of  De  Pompadour,  whose  arms  she  also 
assumed  on  receiving  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
estates.  From  this  time  her  favor  increased;  and 
gradually  Madame  de  Pompadour  took  upon  herself 
the  office  of  first  minister — ruling  France  as  Fleury 
had  done,  though  with  less  satisfaction  to  the  nation, 
by  humoring  and  amusing  the  king. 

From  her  position  with  reference  to  Louis  XV.,  she 
naturally  experienced  more  difficulty  than  the  cardi- 
nal in  maintaining  that  rule.  All  on  whom  places  or 
pensions  were  not  bestowed  became  her  enemies.  The 
aristocratic  society  of  France,  of  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  were  far  too  thoroughly  corrupt 
to  take  any  moral  objection  to  the  dispensing  of  court 
favors  being  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  king's  mis- 
tress. The  only  indignity  they  saw  in  it  was  that  the 
lady  promoted  to  that  honor  was  not  of  noble  birth, 
not  one  of  their  noble  selves.  But  the  monarch  had 
declared  it  was  his  royal  will  and  pleasure  that  thus 
it  should  be,  and  that  "after  him  might  come  the 
deluge;"  so  the  courtiers,  for  the  most  part,  were  con- 
tent to  bow  down  and  lick  the  dust  of  the  feet  of  the 
Marquise  de  Pompadour. 

Polish  nurse,  who  had  accompanied  her  to  France,  and  to 
whom  she  imparted  her  fears,  bade  her  be  of  good  comfort.  "  She 
will  do  in  the  spirit,"  she  said,  "  what  she  did  in  the  flesh — prefer 
the  king's  apartments  to  your  majesty's.  So  let  her  wander  at  her 
will." 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

"Un  D^godt  Rhubarbalif.*'— Jeanne  Antoinette  Poisson. — Eti- 
quette of  the  Old  Regime. — Jeanne's  Father. — Pretty  and 
Beautiful. — Marriage  of  Mdlle.  Poisson. — Mdme.  d'^tioles  in 
Society. — Cleopatra  and  the  Asp. — Highly  Promoted. — The 
Bourgeoisie  of  Paris. — Street  Lamps. — Evening  Promenading. 

The  history  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  has  been 
variously  related.  She  has  been  greatly  exalted  and 
greatly  debased,  the  object  of  extravagant  praise  and 
no  less  extravagant  invective.  "  Educated  by  a  cor- 
rupt mother  to  corrupt  a  king  born  religious,"  are  the 
opening  words  of  Soulavie's  M^moires;  and  exceed- 
ingly ridiculous  they  are.  For  if  Louis  XV.  really 
was  "born  religious,"  it  is  very  certain  that  he  had 
entirely  lost  this  innate  gift  of  religion  by  the  time  he 
attained  his  thirty-fifth  year,  when  he  first  became 
subject  to  the  influence  of  Madame  de  Pompadour. 
The  work  of  corruption  was  surely  well-nigh  com- 
pleted under  the  reign  of  the  four  sisters  De  Nesle, 
and  "Z^  bien  aim/"  was  now  a  prey  to  ennui^  and 
sometimes  to  fits  of  remorse  so  profound  that  life 
seemed  a  burden  to  him.  His  tapestry,  his  amateur 
cookery,  his  turning  and  delving,  and  other  undig- 
nified and  puerile  pursuits,  had  all  lost  their  charm, 
while  a  certain  restlessness  of  spirit  gave  him**a« 
de'goUt  rhubarbatif  for  everything  and  everybody 
under  the  sun. 

He  sighed  for  new  amusements,  new  pleasures;  and 
had  Madame  de  Chateauroux  been  spared  to  him,  he 


26S  THR   OLD  k&GlME, 

possibly  might  soon  have  been  sighing  for  new  worlds 
to  conquer.  But,  as  it  was,  when  he  met  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  he  was  like  a  fish  out  of  water — if  so 
humble  a  simile  be  permitted.  From  the  age  of  five 
to  thirty-three  he  had  been  under  the  guidance  of  his 
preceptor,  and  for  at  least  eight  or  nine  years  had  dis- 
covered no  beauty  that  could  compete  with  that  of 
the  queen.  His  preceptor  was  dead,  and  his  queen, 
chiefly  by  her  own  fault,  was  no  longer  his  queen  of 
beauty.  She  had  tamely  yielded  her  legitimate  influ- 
ence to  others.  Those  others  having  also  disappeared 
from  the  stage  of  life,  Madame  de  Pompadour,  or 
rather  Madame  d'Etioles,  then  appears  prominently 
on  the  scene,  ambitious  of  taking  the  sceptre  of 
France  from  the  feeble  hands  of  the  king. 

At  the  age  of  three  years  and  a  half,  Jeanne  Antoi- 
nette Poisson,  it  appears,  went  with  her  mother  and 
nurse  to  the  house  of  M.  Paris-Duvernay,  to  see  the 
marriage  procession  of  the  king  and  queen.  It  was 
not  a  very  diverting  spectacle  for  so  young  a  child, 
and  little  Jeanne  having  expressed  some  impatience 
was  quieted  by:  "  Look,  my  child,  see  the  king,  the 
handsome  young  king,  he  is  going  to  be  married." 
This  seems  to  have  made  an  impression  on  the  youth- 
ful mind  of  Mdlle.  Jeanne;  for  when  her  nurse  was 
about  to  take  her  in  her  arms  to  return  home,  the 
child  resisted,  clung  to  the  window,  and  cried  lustily. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter,  my  little  Jeanne?"  in- 
quires the  nurse. 

"  I  want  to  be  married,  and  I'm  waiting  for  the 
king,"  murmurs  the  child,  her  eyes  streaming  with 
tears. 

"  Oh !  what  a  pretty  little  wife  for  the  king,"  ex- 
claims her  mother,  laughingly. 


ETIQUETTE  OF  THE  OLD  REGIME,  26^ 

Thus  is  this  phrase,  apparently  a  standing  joke  in 
the  family,  accounted  for,  in  letters  attributed  to  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour.  And  it  is  as  likely  to  be  true 
as  the  disagreeable  origin  elsewhere  given  to  it,  in 
some  few  memoirs  of  the  period,  not  generally  trust- 
worthy. That  she  was  brought  up  from  childhood 
with  the  view  of  her  becoming  the  king's  mistress  is 
difficult  to  believe.  For  it  should  be  remembered 
that  the  rigid  class  distinctions  of  the  old  regime  were 
still  in  full  force  at  Versailles;  and  that  the  halo  of 
divinity  which  surrounded  and  hedged  in  the  king 
was  not  yet  so  dimmed  that  a  family  of  iht  petite  hour 
geoisie  would  presume  to  bring  up  a  daughter  with  the 
view  of  her  filling  a  post  to  which  only  the  daughters 
of  nobles  could  pretend.  Besides,  the  king  gave  no 
indications,  either  then  or  for  many  years  after,  of 
sinking  into  a  miserable  debauchee,  as  he  eventually 
became. 

From  the  letters  of  Mdlle.  Aiss6,  which  probably 
are  authentic,  the  writer,  after  deprecating,  with  her 
usual  sentimentality,  the  scandals  she  so  evidently 
loves  to  dwell  upon,  says:  "Though  these  things  are 
done  in  the  face  of  the  sun,  yet  the  court  is  a  pious 
one;  and  the  manners  of  the  two  heads  of  the  state 
(Fleury  and  the  king)  very  severe.  They  are  irre- 
proachable except  on  the  score  of  morality." 

Jeanne's  father  was  second-clerk  in  the  com- 
misssariat  department,  an  appointment  he  owed  to 
one  of  the  brothers  Paris.  Like  too  many  others,  he 
was  afflicted  with  the  mania  for  gambling,  and  as  he 
was  more  frequently  a  loser  than  a  gainer,  and  his 
means  also  were  small,  his  family  was  often  reduced 
to  great  straits.  This  led  to  defalcations,  or  em- 
bezzlement of  some  sort,  which  compelled  him  secret- 


270  THE   OLD  R&GIME. 

ly  to  leave  France.  He  was  tried  in  his  absence,  and 
condemned  to  be  hanged.  Not  being  forthcoming, 
he  was  hanged  in  effigy,  and  the  whole  of  his  goods 
were  seized  by  his  creditors,  leaving  his  wife  and 
young  son  and  daughter  destitute. 

For  some  time  both  brother  and  sister  had  been 
educated  at  the  expense  of  M.  le  Normand  Tourne- 
hem.  By  his  liberality  Jeanne  was  not  only  taught 
engraving,  that  she  might  have  an  occupation  that 
would  secure  her,  if  needed,  a  livelihood,  but  also  in- 
structed, by  the  best  masters  obtainable,  in  vocal  and 
instrumental  music;  in  the  then  fashionable  accom- 
plishments of  dancing  and  drawing;  in  languages, 
and  so  forth.  Great  natural  intelligence  aiding  these 
educational  advantages,  Jeanne  Antoinette  Poisson 
was  a  far  more  highly  endowed  young  lady  than 
most  of  the  daughters  of  nobles  with  whom,  while 
pursuing  her  studies,  she  sometimes  came  in  contact; 
though  "  the  difference  in  rank"  forbade  any  approach 
to  intimacy. 

Until  about  her  fifteenth  year  she  was  so  extremely 
thin  that,  except  in  grace  of  movement,  she  gave  no 
promise  of  becoming  "  the  most  beautiful  woman  of 
the  capital."  "There  was  in  her  countenance,"  says 
even  one  who  delights  to  heap  obloquy  upon  her,  "  a 
most  attractive  blending  of  vivacity  and  tenderness. 
It  was  a  countenance  that  might  be  called  both  pretty 
and  beautiful.  To  her  personal  graces  was  added 
the  charm  of  her  many  accomplishments;  and  the 
thorough  instruction  she  had  received  imparted  great 
interest  to  her  conversation."  "A  certain  art  of 
badinage''  which  she  possessed  in  perfection,  and 
which,  though  lively  and  piquant,  was  refined  in  tone, 
highly  delighted  and  amused  the  distinguished  circle 


MARRIAGE   OF  MDLLE,    POISSON. 


271 


of  wits,  men  of  letters,  and  members  of  the  beau  monde 
who  filled  her  salon  when  she  became  Madame  le 
Normand  d'Etioles. 

She  was  then  between  eighteen  and  nineteen.  M. 
le  Normand  Tournehem — a  man  of  good  family,  and 
one  of  the  farmers-general,  therefore  rich — had  pro- 
posed to  leave  her  the  half  of  his  property.  But  his 
nephew  having  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  her,  a  mar- 
riage was  arranged,  by  which  eventually  she  was  to 
succeed  to  the  whole  of  the  uncle's  fortune.  The 
consent  of  the  young  man's  father  was  reluctantly 
given.  The  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  been  hanged 
in  effigy,  and  who,  until  recently  (interest  having 
been  made  to  set  aside  this  disgraceful  sentence  for 
the  lesser  one  of  banishment),  dared  not  return  to 
France  lest  he  should  undergo  that  process  in  per- 
son, was  not,  he  considered,  a  very  desirable  match. 
But  he  yielded  to  the  infatuation  of  his  son  and  the 
wishes  of  his  brother,  M.  le  Normand  Tournehem. 
Most  unfortunately,  tlie  young  lady  had  no  love  for 
her  husband.  So  far  as  she  was  concerned,  it  was  one 
of  those  conventional  French  marriages  in  which  love 
is  not  even  a  secondary  consideration,  though  affec- 
tion and  happiness  often  result  from  them;  but  in 
this  instance  the  bridegroom  was  deeply  in  love. 

"  With  ample  means  at  command,  and  gifts,  natural 
and  acquired,  such  as  hers,"  remarks  M.  Bungener, 
"  she  might  have  taken  a  very  high  place  in  society, 
and  would  have  played  a  brilliant  part  in  the  world, 
had  she  never  approached  the  steps  of  the  throne." 
She  was  of  the  sect  of  the  philosophers,  of  course ; 
being  on  terms  of  friendly  intimacy  with  Voltaire, 
who  sometimes  sojourned  for  a  week  or  ten  days 
together  at  the  Chateau  d'Etioles,   where   he  wrote 


2/2  THE   OLD  REGIME, 

some  portion  of  his  "  Histoire  Gen^rale"  and  his 
"  Charles  XII."  ;  also,  as  historiographer  of  France, 
the  account  of  the  king's  first  campaign  in  Flanders, 
from  the  reports  transmitted  to  him  by  M.  d'Argen- 
son.  With  Voltaire  she  was  received  at  Sceaux, 
where  some  dramatic  bagatelles  he  had  written  for 
the  duchess's  theatre  were  performed.  While  there 
they  heard  of  the  death  of  Cardinal  Fleury,  whom  she 
had  once  met  in  the  salon  of  Madame  de  Carignan, 
and  again  at  a  supper  at  Madame  de  Tencin's,  where 
his  particular  notice  of  her  seems  to  have  been  rather 
displeasing  to  the  hostess. 

Both  before  and  after  her  marriage  she  frequented 
the  best  literary  salons — the  brilliant  artistic  and  phil- 
osophic receptions  of  the  moralist  Vauvenargues,  at 
the  Hotel  de  Tours;  and  the  grave  and  learned  circle 
of  M.  de  Chenevieres.  Crebillon  and  Voltaire  were 
then  not  only  at  peace,  but,  apparently,  there  was 
friendship  between  them.  The  next  year  there  was 
war  to  the  knife. 

It  was  at  a  reception  at  the  house  of  M.  de  Che- 
nevieres that  Madame  d'Etioles  first  met  Marmontel; 
then  very  young,  and  but  recently  arrived  from  Tou- 
louse with  a  great  provincial  literary  reputation. 
With  M.  d'Etioles  she  attended  the  first  representation 
of  his  tragedy  of  "  Cleopatra."  It  appears  that  the 
theatre  was  crowded  even  more  than  was  usual  on 
such  occasions,  the  doors  being  besieged  by  an  anx- 
ious crowd  long  before  the  time  for  admission.  This 
intense  interest  was  due  less  to  the  new  play  and  the 
great  actress,  Mdlle.  Clairon,  who  played  the  heroine, 
than  to  a  mechanical  asp,  made  by  the  mechanician 
Vaucanson,  and  which,  held  in  the  hand  of  Cleo- 
patra, represented  all  the  movements  of  a  live  reptile. 


HIGHLY  PROMOTED, 


273 


The  illusion  was  perfect.  But  while  watching  the 
twisting  and  turning  of  the  creature,  both  author  and 
actress  were  but  little  attended  to.  The  mechanical 
triumph  of  M.  Vaucanson  proved,  indeed,  so  prejudi- 
cial to  their  success  that  it  had  to  be  abandoned. 

Marmontel  was  afterwards  one  of  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour's protdg/s^  and,  generally,  rising  young  artists 
and  literary  men  found  in  her  an  enlightened  ap- 
preciation of  their  talents  and  productions.  The  salon 
of  Madame  d'Etioles  would  doubtless  have  become 
the  most  brilliant  and  distinguished  of  the  period,  as 
she  was,  herself,  the  most  remarkably  talented,  gifted, 
and  beautiful  woman  of  her  day,  had  not  want  of 
moral  principles,  and  an  intense  love  of  power,  led 
her  to  seek  the  gratification  of  her  ambitious  views  in 
the  much-envied  position  of  the  king's  recognized 
mistress.  To  speak  of  it  as  a  disreputable  position  is 
to  judge  it  by  a  different  standard  of  morality  from 
that  which  prevailed  at  the  period.  For  the  elevation, 
as  it  was  termed,  of  Madame  d'Etioles  shocked  only 
because  it  v;^  the  first  instance  of  unt  dame  bourgeoise^ 
or  lady  of  the  middle  class,  having  been  so  "  highly 
promoted,"  and  accordingly  it  was  resented  as  one  of 
the  social  innovations  of  that  innovating  age  on  the 
privileges  of  the  nobles,  and  a  breach  of  the  etiquette 
of  the  old  regime.  But  when  Madame  de  Pompadour 
took  up  the  sceptre  of  France,  she  was  fully  impressed 
by  the  idea  that  her  reign  would  be  a  long  one.  She 
had  the  tact,  or  the  art,  to  impress  the  same  con- 
viction on  others;  and  thus  secured,  as  her  partisans, 
all  who  were  ambitious  and  who  sought  court  favor; 
without  which  the  road  to  distinction  was  then  closed 
to  most  persons.  To  assist  at  the  toilet  of  La  Mar- 
quise  de   Pompadour  was    soon,    therefore,   a  favor 


2/4 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


more  eagerly  desired  than  to  assist  at  the  petit  lever 
of  the  king. 

The  court  became  more  brilliant,  the  salons  more 
animated  from  the  time  of  her  accession  to  power. 
The  change  which  French  society  had  for  some  years 
been  gradually  undergoing  seemed  to  have  derived 
from  that  event  a  fresh  impulse.  The  middle  class 
rapidly  rose  in  importance,  while  the  prestige  of  the 
nobility  declined.  It  was  owing,  however,  rather  to 
the  flourishing  state  of  French  commerce,  which, 
almost  extinct  when  Louis  XV.  came  of  age,  had  been 
fostered  and  renewed  under  the  peaceful  policy  and 
economical  administration  of  Fleury.  The  class  in 
whose  hands  lay  the  wealth  of  the  country  now 
claimed  consideration  where,  hitherto,  it  had,  at  best, 
been  but  tolerated;  while  the  great  and  increasing 
spread  of  the  new  philosophism  tended  towards  the 
levelling  of  social  inequalities,  and  the  depriving  the 
gentilhomme  of  his  long-enjoyed  privilege  of  contemn- 
ing and  insulting  the  bourgeois. 

Barbier  records  in  his  journal  (1745-)  that  "the 
bourgeoisie  of  Paris,"  meaning  the  trading  and  shop- 
keeping  section,  "are  no  longer  content  with  their 
station — that  they,  in  fact,  know  not  their  place," 
since  they  have  been  permitted  with  impunity  not 
only  to  abandon  the  characteristic  dress  prescribed  by 
Richelieu,  to  mark  the  line  of  separation  between  them 
and  the  upper  ranks  of  society,  but  also  to  resume  the 
use  of  gold,  silver,  and  jewels,  forbidden  under  the 
regency.  Another  French  writer  observes  that,  in  a 
country  where  wealth,  without  noble  descent,  had 
never  yet  obtained  social  consideration,  the  parvenu 
millionaire  was  now  courted  and   honored   far  more 


EVENING  PROMENADING,  2/5 

than  the  needy  gentilhomme^  though  he  could  prove  the 
nobility  of  his  family  for  seventeen  generations. 

Trade  was  prosperous;  and  men  engaged  in  it  had 
been  quietly  laying  by  money  while  the  upper  hour- 
geoisie  and  the  nobles  had  been  squandering  it.  The 
small  dark  shops,  which  hitherto  had  served  for  the 
needs  of  the  Parisians,  were  abandoned  for  more  com- 
modious ones,  with  superior  dwelling  accommodation. 
The  introduction,  at  this  time,  of  the  street  lamps 
made  Paris  a  brilliantly  lighted  city,  compared  with 
its  previous  gloom  after  nightfall.  It  induced,  also, 
the  lighting  up  of  shops,  and  favored  the  now  gen- 
eral custom  of  promenading  on  the  Boulevards  in  the 
evening — a  recreation  to  which  all  classes  were  de- 
voted. Ladies,  as  well  as  gentlemen,  made  use  of 
walking-canes — the  bourgeoise  presuming  also  to  follow 
this  fashion;  just  as  at  home  she  carried  her  snuff- 
box or  bonbonni^re^  and  flaunted  in  silk  attire,  with  a 
wide-spreading  panier^  and  jewels  and  lace,  with  as 
grand  an  air  as  any  marquise  or  duchesse. 

The  various  trades  no  longer  congregated  each  in 
its  own  distinct  street,  but  were  located  indiscrimi- 
nately in  different  parts  of  the  city.  The  most  thriving 
of  the  shopkeepers  began  to  have  their  country  seats 
in  the  suburbs,  and  shopmen  were  employed  where, 
heretofore,  wives  and  daughters  attended  in  the  bus- 
iness. "Now  they  have  their  weekly  receptions," 
says  Mercier;  "take  their  tea  and  coffee;  disdain  tal- 
low candles,  and,  like  their  betters,  burn  wax-lights 
and  set  out  their  card-tables  for  the  evening." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Le  Mar^chal  de  Saxe. — The  Dauphin's  Baptism  of  Fire. — Mdme. 
de  Pompadour  at  the  Wars. — Her  Heart  grew  Faint. — A  Re- 
vulsion of  Feeling. — "Oh,  saddle  White  Surrey  !" — Mars  and 
Venus. — Scenes  of  the  War. — Le  Poeme  de  Fontenoy. — Eve 
of  the  Battle  of  Rocoux. — The  Baggage  of  War. — Living  en 
Bourgeois. — Bravery  and  its  Rewards. — A  Soldier  of  Fortune. 

Following  the  example  of  Madame  de  Chateau- 
roux,  Madame  de  Pompadour,  with  more  successful 
results,  had  prevailed  on  the  king  to  rejoin  the  army 
in  Flanders;  to  complete,  as  she  flatteringly  observed, 
his  series  of  conquests,  interrupted  by  the  contretemps 
of  his  illness  at  Metz.  The  Marechal  de  Saxe  had 
already  left  Paris  to  resume  the  chief  command  of  the 
French  armies,  though  suffering  greatly  from  languor 
and  weakness;  his  health  being  seriously  undermined 
by  the  excesses  of  a  dissolute  life.  But  his  great  flow 
of  spirits,  his  courage  and  martial  ardor,  sustained 
him  on  this  trying  occasion.  To  Voltaire's  question 
"  what  he  could  do  in  such  a  feeble  condition,"  the 
Marechal  replied,  "it  was  not  a  question  of  living, 
but  of  setting  out." 

Yet  he  was  often  compelled  to  dismount  while  giv- 
ing his  orders  for  the  disposition  of  the  troops  in 
action,  and  to  repose  in  a  litter  of  wicker-work,  which 
served  him  both  for  a  carriage  and  a  bed.  He  was  a 
very  great  soldier,  undoubtedly,  this  son  of  the  beau- 
tiful Aurora  von  Konigsmark.     His  qualities,  as  such, 


THE  DAUPHIN'S  BAPTISM  OF  FIRE.        2^^ 

were  generally  acknowledged  by  the  officers  of  the 
French  army,  whose  most  distinguished  generals 
served  under  him;  the  more  readily,  it  may  be,  that 
he  was  not  a  Frenchman.  He  was  novN%  with  a  very 
numerous  force,  investing  the  strong  citadel  of  Tour- 
nai— considered  one  of  the  cfufs-d'auvre  of  Vauban's 
system  of  fortification.  A  battle  seemed  imminent, 
and  the  king  being  informed  of  it,  yielded  to  the  sug- 
gestions of  his  beautiful  mistress,  that  he  should  kin- 
dle fresh  valor  in  his  troops  by  showing  himself  at  the 
head  of  his  armies. 

Once  more,  then,  the  royal  hero  dons  his  plumed 
helmet,  and  girds  on  his  valiant  sword;  and,  accom- 
panied by  a  numerous  retinue  and  brilliant  staff,  sets 
out  for  Flanders,  amidst  the  enthusiastic  acclamations 
of  the  Parisian  people.  On  the  6th  of  May  he  arrived 
at  Douai,  whence,  on  the  following  day,  he  proceeded 
to  Pontachin,  to  reconnoitre  with  his  generals,  the 
neighborhood  of  the  expected  battle-field.  The  recep- 
tion of  "Z^^/>«<i/>/;/"  by  his  troops  might  have  glad- 
dened the  heart  of  Henri  IV.;  and  \\it^  vivas  loud  and 
long,  repeated  from  rank  to  rank,  may  momentarily 
have  gratified  Louis  XV.,  though  these  public  ovations 
usually  rather  annoyed  than  pleased  him. 

The  dauphin  on  this  occasion  also  visited  the  armies, 
to  receive  his  baptism  of  fire.  The  relations  between 
Louis  and  his  son  were  frigid  in  the  extreme.  Yet  the 
latter  appears  to  have  been  most  respectful  in  his  be- 
havior towards  the  king,  never  presuming  on  his 
rank,  but  attending  the  petit  lever  with  the  officers  of 
his  corps — allowing  those  of  higher  grade  to  enter 
before  him,  and  mounting  guard  at  the  royal  head- 
quarters simply  as  captain  of  his  regiment  of  "the 
dauphin's  gendarmes  and  light-horse."     He  conducted 


27S  TtfR  OLD  REGIME. 

himself  also  with  as  much  bravery  as  could  be  ex- 
pected in  a  youth  yet  scarcely  sixteen,  and  who,  more- 
over, was  restrained  from  seeking  any  post  of  real 
danger.  A  little  ostentatious  piety,  in  the  publicity 
with  which  he  performed  his  devotions — at  the  in- 
stance indeed  of  his  Jesuit  confessor,  who  was  glad  to 
offer,  in  the  face  of  the  armies,  this  annoyance  to  the 
king — was  all  that  could  well  be  complained  of. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  had  solicited  and  obtained 
permission  to  join  the  king  at  the  camp  of  the  Mare- 
chal  de  Saxe.  She  did  not,  however,  like  Madame  de 
Chateauroux,  take  a  formal  leave  of  the  queen,  but 
decamped  without  beat  of  drum  with  the  minister  of 
war,  Comte  d'Argenson,  to  whom  the  king  had  given 
leave  to  offer  her  a  seat  in  his  carriage.  Two  days 
before  the  battle  they  arrived  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Tournai.  D'Argenson  immediately  proceeded  to  the 
king's  head-quarters,  leaving  Madame  at  a  place  of 
safety  near  Antoin. 

What  anxious  fears  filled  her  breast  during  those 
forty -eight  hours!  How,  at  any  moment,  some  unex- 
pected turn  of  fortune  might  wrest  the  sceptre  of 
France  from  her  hand  ere  she  had  firmly  grasped  it! 
And  when  the  day  of  the  contest  came,  and  the  roar 
of  the  cannon  reached  her  ears,  and  the  din  of  battle 
was  borne  on  the  breeze  in  fitful  and  confused  sounds, 
how  she  trembled!  The  star  of  her  fortunes  seemed 
to  pale,  and  her  ambitious  hopes  to  be  crushed  in  the 
bud,  as  she  listened  to  the  thunder  of  war.  "  Her 
heart  grew  faint,  as  though  'twould  die  within  her." 

But  her  anxiety  was  not  for  her  hero's  life;  she 
knew  that  he  was  safe  enough  out  of  harm's  way. 
But,  ah!  should  the  battle  go  against  him — and  Mau- 
rice de  Saxe  was  more  famous  for  his  retreats  than 


A  REVULSION  OF  FEELING. 


79 


his  victories — what  might  be  the  consequence  to  her  ? 
The  king  had  remarked  that  "since  the  days  of  Saint 
Louis  no  king  of  France  had  gained  any  signal  vic- 
tory over  the  English."  It  is  against  an  English  army, 
led  by  the  impetuous  young  Duke  of  Cumberland, 
that  the  army  of  France  is  now  fighting.  The  victory 
depends  on  good  generalship — and  whatever  his  suf- 
ferings, Maurice  de  Saxe  may  be  depended  on  for  that 
— not,  as  in  these  degenerate  days,  on  the  possession 
of  the  most  murderous  weapons,  when,  after  remorse- 
lessly mowing  down  thousands  with  their  "  monster 
guns,"  pious  emperors  and  kings  send  telegrams  to 
wives  and  mistresses  with  the  news  that  "  God  hath 
blessed  them  with  victory" — God  being  in  these  civi- 
lized times  on  the  side  of  the  latest  diabolical  inven- 
tions, as  formerly  He  was  said  to  favor  the  biggest 
battalions.  Oh  for  the  days  when,  as  the  old  song 
says,  "  They  who  make  the  quarrel  may  be  the  only 
men  to  fight"  ! 

But  we  have  wandered  from  the  village  of  Antoin, 
where  we  left  the  beautiful  marquise  a  prey  to  anxious 
thought.  She  looks  forth  from  her  chamber  window, 
her  face  is  pale,  her  eye  is  haggard ;  she  wonders  why 
his  charger  or  his  chariot  is  so  long  in  coming.  But 
in  the  distance  she  espies  a  horseman,  another,  and 
again  another.  They  ride  as  only  aides-de-camp  ride, 
even  at  reviews — as  if  for  their  very  lives.  The  Mare- 
chal  Comte  d'Estr6es  brings  a  message  from  the  king 
to  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour,  with  the  news  of  the 
victory  of  Fontenoy.  The  marechal  tells  of  the  prod- 
igies of  valor  performed  by  the  king,  of  the  terrible 
risks  he  has  run;  of  his  hairbreadth  escapes,  and  the 
courage,  always  so  conspicuous  in  the  Bourbon  race, 
of  which  he  has  given  such  startling  proofs. 


28o  TffS:  OLD  rAgtme. 

What  a  revulsion  of  feeling  this  news  occasions  ! 
Despondency  had  begun  to  cast  its  dark  shadow  o'er 
the  agitated  mind  of  the  marquise;  now  it  is  dispelled 
by  the  bright  gleams  of  triumph,  and,  in  the  excess  of 
her  joy,  she  resolves  to  ride  over,  personally  to  con- 
gratulate her  hero,  to  the  village  of  Fontenoy.  There, 
the  marechal  informs  her,  the  king  may  yet  be  found. 
"  Oh,  saddle  White  Surrey!"  She  cannot  wait  until 
the  cumbrous  carriage,  with  all  its  fine  trappings,  is 
got  ready.  Her  horse  is  brought  forth;  lightly  she 
mounts  it,  and  outstrips  in  speed  the  marechal  and 
his  aides-de-camp,  stopping  once  in  the  forest  of  Barri 
to  gather  a  branch  of  oak. 

The  king — with  the  dauphin,  the  Marechal  de  Saxe, 
the  Due  de  Richelieu  (the  king's  aide-de-camp),  the 
Due  de  Penthievre  ("notreToulouse"),  and  the  Prince 
de  Soubise  (whose  tent  was  a  sort  of  restaurant  during 
the  campaign),  and  other  staff  officers — was  entering 
the  forest  of  Barri,  when  the  marquise  was  seen  ap- 
proaching from  the  opposite  side.  Louis  immediately 
recognized  his  ladylove,  and,  descending  as  she  rode 
up,  assisted  her  himself  to  dismount — she  taking  that 
opportunity  of  fastening  the  branch  of  oak  in  his 
helmet.  Following  the  example  of  the  king,  the 
whole  of  his  brilliant  military  escort  alighted  to  re- 
ceive the  fair  Marquise  de  Pompadour.  The  flush  of 
excitement  heightened  the  natural  bloom  of  her  cheek, 
and  gratified  ambition  shone  in  her  lustrous  dark  eyes, 
as  their  proud  glance  rested  on  the  imposing  spectacle 
before  her.  The  king  (whom,  if  she  did  not  love,  she 
may  have  admired  as  she  would  the  Apollo  Belvedere) 
was  then  in  the  full  vigor  of  manly  beauty.  As  he 
stood  there,  with  plumed  casque  in  hand,  surrounded 
by  the  most  distinguished  generals  of  the  age,  and 


SCENES  OF  THE    WaH,  28 1 

crowned  with  the  laurels  of  victory,  fresh  from  the 
battle-field,  the  overwrought  imagination  of  an  ambi- 
tious-minded woman  might  regard  the  gay  pageant 
as  typical  of  France,  her  ruler,  and  her  armies,  bowing 
before  her — a  dream  that,  not  long  after,  was  literally 
fulfilled. 

This  meeting  of  Mars  and  Venus  in  the  forest  of 
Barri  must  have  been  a  very  pretty  scene,  and  shed 
an  air  of  romance  on  Fontenoy.  It  served  to  distract 
the  mind  from  the  horrors  of  war  (for  fourteen  thou- 
sand men  lay  dead  on  the  plain  where  that  desperate 
battle  had  been  fought),  and  the  king  immediately 
before  had  been  moralizing  on  the  subject  for  the 
benefit  of  his  son.  The  dauphin,  in  his  turn,  might 
afterwards  have  moralized  on  the  scene  in  the  forest 
of  Barri,  for  the  benefit  of  his  father,  as  he  stood  bare- 
headed before  his  mistress.  Neither  in  youth  nor 
manhood  was  the  dauphin  an  attractive  personage. 
He  was  the  slave  of  Jesuit  priests,  and  displayed  but 
little  intelligence  and  no  great  amiability.  But  to 
witness  the  deference,  the  honor,  so  publicly  paid  to 
his  mother's  rival,  and  in  which  he  was  himself  obliged 
to  take  part,  must  have  been  mortifying  and  painful 
indeed. 

While  compliments  and  felicitations  were  being  ex- 
changed, two  soldiers  of  the  French  Guard  arrived, 
bearing  a  litter,  on  which  was  extended  the  body  of 
the  Due  de  Grammont.  Suddenly  struck  down  by  a 
random  shot  he  had  begged  that  he  might  see,  and 
bid  adieu  to,  the  king  before  he  died.  But  life  was 
found  to  be  extinct  when  he  reached  the  royal  pres- 
ence. What  a  sight  for  the  pretty  marquise  !  Hap- 
pily, however,  her  nerves  were  stronger  than  was  con- 
sidered quite  correct  in  those  days,  so  that,  although 


5^2  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

anxious  eyes  were  upon  her,  she  felt  no  inclination  to 
faint.  So  far  from  it,  that  perceiving  M.  Du  Guesclin 
propped  up  against  a  tree,  where  he  was  waiting  the 
arrival  of  a  surgeon — his  leg  having  been  shattered 
by  a  spent  ball — she  hastened,  as  a  sister  of  mercy,  to 
afford  him,  while  awaiting  a  more  skilful  hand,  such 
relief  as  she  was  able — dressing  and  binding  up  his 
wounds  with  her  handkerchief  and  portions  of  cam- 
bric and  lace  torn  from  her  dress.  The  king  and  all 
present  were,  naturally,  enchanted — even  the  dauphin 
smiled  kindly  upon  her. 

On  the  following  day  there  was  a  solemn  Te  Deum, 
and  a  general  salvo  of  the  army — all  was  "  Joy,  glory, 
and  tenderness,"  as  d'Argenson  wrote  to  Voltaire. 
Three  days  after  the  battle  arrived  Voltaire's  "  Poeme 
de  Fontenoy,"  of  which  thirty  thousand  copies  were 
distributed  amongst  the  army.  He  is  said  to  have 
written  it  in  a  single  day;  but,  doubtless,  it  was  pre- 
pared beforehand,  and  awaited  only  d'Argenson's  re- 
ports of  the  battle  to  impart  to  it  certain  touches  of 
vraisemblance. 

Fontenoy  was  an  important  victory  to  France. 
Ten  days  after  it  Tournai  surrendered,  which  led  to 
the  conquest  of  the  whole  of  the  Austrian  Nether- 
lands. The  king  made  a  triumphal  entry  into 
Tournai,  and  after  visiting  other  places  in  Flanders, 
returned  with  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  Paris,  early 
in  September,  1745. 

The  battle  of  Rocoux  brought  the  campaign  to  an 
end.  It  was  fought  on  the  nth  of  October,  and  was 
generally  considered  as  a  mere  wanton  destruction  of 
human  life.  For  though  victory  remained  with  the 
French,  neither  side  lost  nor  gained  territory  or  other 
advantage  by  it.     The  Marechal  de  Saxe,  supposed  to 


EVE  OF  THE  BATTLE  OE  ROCOUX.         ^83 

be  dying  at  the  opening  of  the  campaign,  seemed  to 
revive  and  to  gain  renewed  strength  as  victory  fol- 
lowed victory.  Yet  even  he  appeared  to  be  by  no 
means  elated  by  the  victory  of  Rocoux,  but  rather 
oppressed  by  so  great  and  unnecessary  an  effusion  of 
blood.  It  was  his  custom  to  have  a  company  of  actors 
in  his  suite,  to  amuse  the  soldiers,  and  to  keep  up 
their  spirits  when  not  in  action.  On  the  eve  of  the 
battle  of  Rocoux,  the  play  was  thus  announced: 

**  To-morrow  there  will  be  no  performance,  on  ac- 
count of  the  mar^chal  intending  to  give  battle.  The 
day  after  to-morrow  we  shall  have  the  honor  of  play- 
ing before  you  •  The  Village  Chanticleer'  and  *  Rhad- 
amiste.' " 

Yet  the  mar^chal,  though  thus  seemingly  assured 
of  victory,  was  not  in  his  usual  spirits;  for  with  the 
presentiment  of  success,  he  foresaw  also  the  terrible 
carnage  that  would  ensue.  The  Marquis  de  F6n61on, 
nephew  of  the  great  Archbishop  of  Cambrai,  was 
among  the  slain  in  that  sangumary  contest.  He  was 
shot  down  in  the  intrenchments. 

After  the  battle  the  army  went  into  winter  quarters, 
and  the  Marechal  de  Saxe  returned  to  Paris,  to  par- 
ticipate in  ihQ  fetes  with  which  the  Hotel  de  Ville  and 
the  Parisian  people  celebrated  the  return  of  the  king 
and  the  successes  of  the  campaign  in  Flanders.  It 
was  scarcely  possible  to  exceed  in  enthusiasm  the 
demonstrations  of  joy  of  the  preceding  year.  Yet 
the  results  of  the  campaign  were  more  important. 
The  monarch  then  returned  to  his  people  raised,  as  by 
a  miracle,  from  the  bed  of  death.  Now  he  came  back 
to  them  as  a  conqueror,  bearing  the  palm  of  victory, 
and  with  the  reputation,  more  or  less  merited,  of  a 
valiant  soldier. 


5§4  ^^^  ^^'-^  j^AgimM. 

There  were  murmurings,  it  is  true — or,  amongst  the 
more  lenient  of  "  the  well-beloved's  "  good  people  of 
Paris,  expressions  of  regret — that  again  he  should 
have  deemed  a  mistress  a  necessary  part  of  the  bag- 
gage of  war.  The  custom  was,  however,  an  old  one, 
though  it  would,  of  course,  have  been  more  honored 
in  the  breach  than  the  observance.  "The  beautiful 
Gabrielle  "  graced  the  guerilla  camp  of  the  gallant 
and  brave  Henri  IV.  The  tearful  La  Valliere  and  the 
haughty  Montespan  graced  the  glass  coach  of  his  god- 
ship,  Louis  XIV.,  when  he  took  a  trip  to  the  wars,  and 
sought  glory  within  ear-shot  of  the  roar  of  the  cannon. 
A  mattresse-en-titre  was,  in  fact,  then  regarded  as  one 
of  the  indispensable  trappings  of  royalty,  as  also, 
under  the  less  high-sounding  appellation  of  ^' a?me 
intime"  of  every  great  noble  and  gentleman  of  for- 
tune, who  rightly  considered  what  was  due  to  his  rank 
and  station. 

If  the  honest  bourgeois  but  very  rarely  followed  this 
social  custom,  it  was  because,  on  the  one  hand,  it  was 
looked  upon  as  an  especial  privilege  of  his  betters;  on 
the  other,  that  few  cared  to  incur  so  superfluous  an 
expense,  entailing  also  an  inconvenient  interference 
with  bourgeois  habits.  Hence  the  phrase  "  they  live  e?t 
bourgeois "  applied  to  those  who  lived  reputably  and 
happily,  and  respected  the  ties  of  marriage  and  of 
family.  The  murmurings  against  Louis  XV.  for  doing 
only  as  his  predecessors,  in  that  respect,  had  done 
arose,  then,  not  from  considerations  of  morality,  but 
chiefly  out  of  the  financial  condition  of  the  country; 
which,  but  recently  rescued  by  strict  economy  from 
the  very  verge  of  bankruptcy,  was  again  menaced  with 
distress — no  less  by  the  extravagance  of  the  king's 
mistresses  than  by  the  heavy  expenses  of  the  war. 


BRAVERY  AND  ITS  REWARDS,  285 

In  addition  to  the  legitimate  cost  of  war,  which  fell 
as  a  burdensome  tax  on  the  people,  there  had  arisen 
the  pernicious  custom  of  conferring  large  pecuniary 
rewards  on  all  officers,  of  any  rank,  who  had  witnessed 
or  taken  part  in  an  action.  The  nation  had  degene- 
rated. The  French  officer  cared  so  little  for  his 
country  that  nothing  spurred  him  on  to  be  brave  in 
its  defence  but  the  expectation  of  being  largely  paid 
for  it  All  came  forward  at  the  end  of  the  campaign 
with  complaints  of  detriment  to  their  fortune  by  ab- 
sence at  the  war,  and  a  claim  for  compensation. 
Once  upon  a  time,  to  be  decorated  with  the*  cross  of 
Saint-Louis  was  the  most  coveted  reward  of  the  brave 
and  gallant  soldier — now  little  was  thought  of  it — 
"  They  have  fastened  to  my  buttonhole,"  said  a  lieu- 
tenant of  grenadiers,  "  the  sign  of  my  courage,  but 
they  have  forgotten  the  price  of  my  valor." 

"  Misery,  misery,"  cried  the  grandees  who  had  held 
all  the  chief  commands,  "  misery,  misery,"  while  in- 
dulging in  every  extravagance  and  luxury.  The  rank 
and  file  who  had  done  all  the  fighting  were,  however, 
rewarded  with  their  cong/y  and  permission  to  seek  a 
subsistence  wherever  they  could  find  it,  or  to  be  con- 
tent to  starve.  Fleury  might  well  dread  war;  he  knew 
that  the  military  chiefs  were  inexorable  creditors, 
rating  their  doubtful  services  exorbitantly  high,  and 
demanding  prompt  payment  in  ready  money,  with 
which  the  coffers  of   France  were   rarely  overflowing. 

The  parsimony  of  Louis  XV.  was  proverbial  when 
his  own  private  purse  was  concerned;  but  he  did  not 
object  to  liberality  when  the  nation  provided  the 
funds.  The  successes  of  the  campaign  in  Flanders 
were  owing  chiefly  to  the  Marechal  de  Saxe;  and  the 
king,  in  acknowledgment  of  his  services,  conferred  on 


286  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

him  the  title  of  Comte  de  Saxe,  and  the  post  of  Mare- 
chal-General  of  the  armies  of  France.  He  presented 
him  also  with  six  of  the  cannon  taken  at  Rocoux,  to 
place  in  front  of  the  Chateau  de  Chambord,  which, 
with  its  wide  domain  and  dependencies — furnishing  a 
revenue  of  between  seven  and  eight  millions  of  francs 
— he  presented  as  a  gift  to  the  Saxon  hero;  adding  to 
this  princely  donation  a  pension  of  forty  thousand 
francs.  Maurice  de  Saxe  was  indeed  a  fortunate  sol- 
dier of  fortune. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

"La  Reine  de  Navarre."—"  Lc  Temple  de laGloire."— "  Is  Trajan 
satisfied?" — The  King's  Petits-Soupers. — The  King's  Morals 
in  Danger. — Horace,  Virgil,  and  Voltaire.— Jealousy  of  Pi- 
ron. — The  Laurel  Crown  of  Glory. — Les  Modes  Pompadour. — 
An  Evening  with  the  Queen.— The  Queen  and  the  Mar6chal. — 
•*  Ora  pro  Nobis." — M.  de  Saxe  Caught  Napping. — The  Illus- 
trious Mouthier. — La  Marquise  Bourgeoise. — Stately  Polite- 
ness.—The  Old  Regime. 

A  VERY  brilliant  season,  both  at  Paris  and  Ver- 
sailles, followed  the  military  successes  of  France.  Re- 
ligious dissensions,  parliamentary  quarrels,  all  were 
forgotten  in  the  general  joy.  Even  the  severity  of  the 
Jansenists  relaxed,  and  the  scruples  of  the  Jesuits 
gave  way,  before  a  nation's  enthusiasm.  With  all 
classes, /^/^j  and  rejoicings  formed  the  chief  business 
of  the  hour.  Had  Louis  XV.  been  the  god  of  war  in 
person,  greater  adulation  could  not  have  been  paid 
him.  His  flatterers  found  language  wanting  in  words 
of  sufficient  force  of  meaning  to  convey  an  idea  of  the 
royal  warrior's  feats  of  arms,  or  to  express  their  own 
great  admiration  of  his  prowess. 

Such  incense  would  have  seemed  natural,  and  been 
acceptable,  offered  to  Louis  XIV.;  to  his  successor 
it  gave  no  satisfaction  whatever.  The  times  were 
changed;  already  the  old  regime  had  begun  to  totter. 
This  extravagant  praise  and  fulsome  flattery  had  now 
more  the  air  of  mockery  than  of  compliment,  and  the 


288  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

excitement  of  war  having  passed  away,  Louis  would 
infallibly  have  sunk  back  to  the  apathy  and  gloom 
habitual  to  him,  with  intervals  of  tapestry  and  cook- 
ery, had  not  Madame  de  Pompadour  come  to  the  res- 
cue. It  was  at  this  time  that  she  introduced  scenic 
representations  at  Versailles,  and  formed  her  company 
of  comedians  and  dancers — all  men  of  rank,  and  all 
happy  to  obey  the  favorite's  slightest  behest. 

Tht  petite  op&a  of  "  La  Reine  de  Navarre"  had  been 
produced  by  Voltaire  for  the  marriage  fetes  of  the 
dauphin.  At  its  first  representation  it  had  met  with 
the  general  approval  of  the  court;  and  great  ladies 
intrigued  for  the  principal  rSleSy  thinking  to  fascinate 
the  king.  But  Madame,  with  her  musical  attainments 
and  terpsichorean  graces,  of  course  reserved  for  her- 
self the  parts  for  prtfua  donna  and  pre77ii}re  danseuse. 
Voltaire,  it  appears,  rather  coveted  the  post  of  stage- 
manager,  but  the  lady  preferred  in  this,  as  in  more 
important  affairs,  to  retain  the  management  in  her 
own  hands.  It  was  afterwards  remarked  that  the 
poet  had  not  been  judicious  in  his  choice  of  a  subject, 
yet  the  king  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  piece  that 
it  procured  for  Voltaire — at  the  instance,  however,  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour — the  appointment  of  Gentle- 
man of  the  Bed-chamber.  He  was  now  requested  to 
write  a  similar  piece,  the  subject  having  reference  to 
the  war,  for  a  proposed  fete  at  Versailles.  The  result 
was  "Le  Temple  de  la  Gloire,"  with  a  prologue,  after 
the  manner  of  Metastasio's  productions.  It  was  set 
to  music  by  Rameau,  who  had  composed  the  dances 
and  songs  of  the  "  Reine  de  Navarre,"  and  was  per- 
formed in  the  petits  appartements.  In  the  opening  of 
the  piece,  Trajan  (Louis  XV.)  was  seen  giving  peace 
to  Europe,  and  the  Temple  of  Glory  afterwards  open- 


"  TRAJAN  satisfied:'  289 

ing  to  receive  him.  Voltaire  had  obtained  permission 
to  be  present  at  its  first  representation.  It  was  ex- 
tremely well  received.  But  the  vanity  of  the  poet  led 
to  a  breach  of  etiquette  on  his  part  that  gave  great 
offence  to  Trajan. 

It  was  utterly  contrary  to  the  usage  of  the  court  to 
address  the  king.  But  when  he  was  leaving  the  thea- 
tre, Voltaire,  throwing  himself  in  his  way,  exclaimed, 
"  Is  Trajan  satisfied?"  This  caused  a  momentary 
interruption  to  the  progress  of  the  king  and  his  re- 
tinue; but  a  look  of  astonishment  and  indignation, 
that  would  have  fallen  as  a  thunderbolt  on  a  less 
dauntless  intruder,  was  the  only  reply  vouchsafed. 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  desirous  of  soothing  the 
wounded  amour-propre  of  her  poet- friend,  prevailed 
on  the  king  to  allow  the  offence  to  pass  unnoticed; 
assuring  him  that  irrepressible  admiration  of  his 
majesty's  valor,  not  presumption,  had  occasioned  it. 
Further  to  console  him  for  the  severity  of  the  rebuke, 
there  was  confided  to  him  the  drawing  up  of  a  mani- 
festo, which  it  was  intended  to  publish  when  the  pro- 
jected descent  on  England  should  be  made,  to  assist 
the  vain  efforts  of  the  young  Pretender,  then  in  Scot- 
land, to  gain  possession  of  the  English  throne.  The 
defeat  at  Culloden  put  an  end  to  this  project. 

But  Voltaire  was  as  little  disposed  to  evince  grati- 
tude for  such  a  commission,  as  to  display  any  mortifi- 
cation— whatever  he  might  feel — at  the  rebuff  he  had 
received.  Louis  XV.  had  made  an  enemy  of  one  of 
whom  Madame  de  Pompadour — flattering  his  weak- 
nesses— would  have  made  a  partisan.  For  she  fully 
appreciated  the  talents  of  Voltaire,  and  his  influence 
on  the  opinions  of  the  age.  She  believed,  too,  that  he 
might  successfully  aid  her  in  weaning  the  king  from 


290 


THE  OLD  REGIME. 


the  habits  he  had  contracted — but  which  then,  per- 
haps, were  too  thoroughly  confirmed — of  drunkenness 
and  gluttony,  varied  only  by  his  addiction  to  the 
chase.  The  white  cotton  cap  and  apron  of  a  chef 
were  distasteful  to  her.  She  would  have  had  him  be- 
come the  patron  of  men  of  letters;  encourage  science 
and  art;  embellish  his  capital,  and  take  some  pleasure 
in  intellectual  conversation  and  the  society  of  the 
savants. 

But  it  was  late  in  the  day  for  Louis  XV.  to  become 
thus  reformed.  It  was  both  his  misfortune  and  his 
fault  to  be  too  thoroughly  perverted;  and,  besides, 
he  disliked  Voltaire.  Yet,  at  the  solicitation  of  the 
favorite,  he  was  on  the  point  of  inviting  him  to  the 
petits-soupers  at  Versailles.  Listening  ears,  however, 
had  by  some  means  obtained  a  knowledge  of  the 
secret,  and  before  the  honor  of  an  invitation  was 
actually  conferred,  all  the  illustrious  mediocrities  of 
the  court  were  up  in  arms,  to  oppose  so  monstrous  an 
infraction  of  propriety  as  that  of  admitting  a  poet  to 
sit  at  the  table  of  a  king. 

The  Jesuits  were  in  an  extraordinary  state  of  agita- 
tion, and,  by  their  denunciations  of  the  diabolical 
project,  frightened  poor  Marie  Leczinska  and  the 
dauphin  out  of  their  senses.  "  The  king,"  they  told 
them,  "  ran  the  risk  of  becoming  a  philosopher!" 
What  more  terrible  fate  could  befall  him?  He  still 
said  his  prayers  daily,  and  went  regularly  to  Mass, 
though  he  had  given  up  his  Holy  Week  devotions — 
not  caring  humbly  to  ask  of  his  priest  a  "  ticket  of 
confession,"  which  was  absolutely  necessary  since  the 
Galilean  church  had  received  the  horrid  Bulle  Uni- 
genitus  into  its  bosom,  and  the  pugnacious  Christophe 
de  Beaumont  reigned  as  Archbishop  of  Paris.     Pre- 


HORACE,   VIRGIL,  AND  VOLTAIRE.  29I 

dictions,  presentiments,  anticipations,  of  some  na- 
tional calamity  looming  in  the  future,  were  at  that 
time  very  general.  No  one  knew  exactly  the  nature 
of  the  trouble  looked  forward  to,  but  each  interpreted 
his  fears  according  to  his  opinion  of  the  aspect  of 
things  then  existing  in  Church  and  State. 

The  queen  and  the  dauphin,  alarmed  by  the  Jesuits 
— who  probably  foresaw  their  own  downfall — believed 
that  the  universe  would  be  shaken  to  its  centre  if 
Louis  XV. — guided  by  the  guiding  spirit  of  the  age, 
the  mocking  sceptical  Voltaire — should  profess  him- 
self of  the  sect  of  the  philosophers.  Yet  Voltaire  and 
his  "beautiful  Emilie"  had  sat  at  the  table  of  the 
queen's  father — the  worthy  Stanislaus — at  whose  little 
court  of  Lun6ville  the  Marquise  de  Boufflers  played 
the  part  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour  at  Versailles 
— and  no  harm  had  come  of  it;  though  the  excellent 
Pole,  so  much  respected  by  his  subjects,  was,  in  fact, 
very  much  of  a  philosopher  in  his  principles.  But,  as 
the  poet  himself  remarked  to  the  Due  de  Richelieu, 
"Horace  and  Virgil  had  dined  with  Augustus;  why, 
then,  should  not  Voltaire  sup  with  Louis  XV.?" 

Why  not,  indeed  ?  except  that,  as  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour sarcastically  observed,  "  Dunces  do  not  like  to 
find  themselves  at  the  table  with  a  man  of  genius." 
So  powerful,  however,  was  the  influence  secretly  em- 
ployed to  exclude  him  from  the  petits  appartements,  that 
he  determined  to  resign  the  office  conferred  on  him 
of  Gentleman  of  the  King's  Bed-chamber — its  duties 
being  so  little  in  harmony  with  his  feelings  and  char- 
acter. The  king  gave  him  permission  to  dispose  of  his 
place  (worth  from  two  to  three  hundred  thousand 
francs)  as  then  was  customary,  but  allowed  him  to 
retain  all  the  privileges  attached  to  it.     As  Voltaire 


292  THE   OLD  RJ^GIME. 

loved  money,  that  course,  naturally,  was  much  more 
agreeable  to  him  than  resigning. 

Piron — who  professed  to  be  a  rival  of  Voltaire — 
piqued  by  the  favor  with  which  the  dramatic  trifle  of 
"Le  Temple  de  la  Gloire,"  had  been  received  by  the 
court,  vented  his  spleen  in  a  satire  upon  it.  It  was  amus- 
ing and  epigrammatic,  it  must  be  confessed — far  more 
so  than  those  with  which  jealousy  had  inspired  him 
when  ridiculing  compositions  of  a  more  elevated 
character — Merope  and  CEdipus,  for  instance.  Piron, 
though  so  highly  appreciated  in  his  congenial  taverns 
and  wine-shops  and  at  the  Thedtre  de  la  Foire,  could 
not  forgive  Voltaire  his  success  in  the  salons  and  at 
the  Theatre  Frangais.  Never  since  he  put  into  rhyme 
the  false  report  that  Voltaire  had  fled  from  Paris  to 
escape  incarceration  in  the  Bastille  for  his  play  of 
"Mahomet,"  when  in  reality  the  Cardinal  had  de- 
spatched him  to  Berlin  on  a  secret  mission,  had  Piron 
omitted  any  opportunity  of  disparaging,  in  scurrilous 
epigrams,  the  productions  of  his  rival. 

Piron  was  especially  a  poet  of  the  people.  His 
satire  in  no  way  detracted  from  the  success  of  Vol- 
taire's little  piece  when  it  was  produced  at  the  opera. 
Some  complimentary  lines  to  the  Marechal  de  Saxe 
had  been  added  to  the  prologue  by  the  author,  to  be 
recited  on  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to  the  theatre.  His 
siege  operations  at  Rocoux  had  delayed  his  return  to 
Paris  until  the  public  festivities  were  nearly  concluded. 
To  do  the  honors,  as  it  were,  of  the  hero's  triumph 
then  devolved,  at  the  king's  request,  chiefly  on  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour,  who  accompanied  him  to  the 
opera,  and  by  previous  arrangement  with  Mdlle. 
Favart,  who  personated  La  Gloire^  procured  an  ova- 
tion for  the  marechal.     Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse, 


LES  MODES  POMPADOC/^.  2g$ 

as  it  seemed,  the  actress,  while  reciting  the  new  lines 
of  the  prologue,  snatched  from  her  head  the  laurels 
she  wore  in  her  character  of  Glory,  and  advancing 
towards  the  front  of  the  royal  box,  then  occupied 
by  De  Saxe,  laid  her  leafy  crown  before  him. 

The  whole  of  the  audience,  inspired  by  this  act, 
simultaneously  arose,  and,  with  vivas  hearty  and  pro- 
longed, applauded  the  great  soldier  with  so  much  en- 
thusiasm that  with  difficulty  he  repressed  his  emotion. 
Voltaire  was  present,  but  out  of  sight.  The  mar^chal 
insisted  on  his  coming  forward.  The  applause  was 
then  renewed,  and  taken  up  again  and  ag^in,  vocifer- 
ously, in  the  course  of  the  piece. 

From  the  prevalence  of  /fs  modes  Pompadour  among 
the  more  distinguished  and  courtly  part  of  the  audi- 
ence, it  would  almost  seem  that  it  had  been  intended 
to  celebrate  also  the  triumph  of  the  marquise.  The 
number  of  embroidered  coats  "  h  la  Marquise "  worn 
by  the  gentlemen  was  remarkable.  They  were  of  the 
color  she  favored — a  full  bright  blue,  once  known  as 
^tonl  du  roiy'  now  as  **  bieu  Pompadour.**  The  coiffure 
and  Jichu  d  la  Marquise^  with  the  panier  of  diminished 
proportions,  were  also  general. 

Even  the  military  paid  their  court  by  wearing  the 
"  rosette  h  la  Pompadour " — her  arrangement  of  the 
sword-knot  of  the  Marechal  de  Saxe,  who,  not  being 
very  attentive  to  the  neatness  of  his  dress,  had  ap- 
peared in  the  presence  of  the  marquise  with  his  sword- 
knot  put  on  in  a  rather  slovenly  fashion.  With  her 
own  fair  hands  she  arranged  it  for  him,  and  with 
so  much  taste  and  skill  that  the  officers  of  his  corps 
generally  adopted  it,  Voltaire  also  took  to  a  sky-blue 
coat  at  this  time,  and  was  faithful  to  it  to  the  end. 

Although  the  poet  might  not  sup  with  the  king,  he 


^94 


THE  OLD  REGIME. 


was  invited  to  sup  with  the  marechal,  whom,  with  the 
chief  officers  of  his  corps  and  a  number  of  distin- 
guished guests,  courtiers  and  ladies,  the  marquise  was 
to  entertain  in  her  apartments  the  next  evening.  Af- 
ter the  opera,  which  began  and  ended  early,  the  mare- 
chal was  engaged  to  the  queen.  Marie  Leczinska  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  fHes^  though  more  than  once  re- 
quested to  do  so  by  the  king.  Naturally  she  did  not 
wish  to  assist  at  the  triumph  of  her  rival;  yet  she  was 
anxious  that  the  marechal  should  know  that  she  was 
not  insensible  to  his  merits  and  the  services  he  had 
rendered  to  France. 

The  queen's  intimate  circle  included  the  Due  and 
Duchesse  de  Luynes;  the  Cardinal  de  Luynes,  their 
uncle;  M.  and  Madame  de  la  Vauguyon;  the  Presi- 
dent Renault;  Madame  de  Flavacourt,  sister  of  Ma- 
dame de  Chateauroux;  the  Jesuit  Pere  Griffet,  and 
others.  They  were  said  to  pass  their  evenings  in  the 
manner  supposed  to  be  customary  in  England — in 
reading  books  of  devotion,  or  in  dreary,  desultory 
conversation,  with  long  intervals  of  silence;  often 
ending  in  the  company  generally  being  caught  nap- 
ping. Sometimes  the  game  of  "  What  do  you  promise 
me?"  was  introduced  by  way  of  recreation.  Or  the 
dauphin  and  the  young  dauphine  would  sing  psalms 
to  the  accompaniment  of  the  harpsichord;  the  evening 
concluding,  when  the  circle  was  sufficiently  wide 
awake,  with  general  prayer.  The  queen  read — the 
company  made  the  responses. 

The  marechal  prepared  himself  to  entertain,  rather 
than  to  be  entertained;  to  tell  anecdotes  of  the  war; 
to  laud  the  courage  of  the  king  and  the  bravery  of 
the  dauphin.  On  arriving,  he  found  the  usual  circle 
assembled,  and  some  of  them,  to  his  surprise,  engaged 


''Oi^A  pno  nobis:*  29S 

at  the  card-table — an  occupation  that  appeared  to 
amuse  them  more  than  the  warrior's  tales  of  the  battle- 
field. The  queen  lamented  with  him  the  miseries 
occasioned  by  war;  complimented  him  on  his  suc- 
cesses; but  mildly  reproved  him  for  entertaining  his 
soldiers  with  plays,  when  serious  thoughts  should 
rather  be  instilled  into  their  minds,  as  men  about  to 
face  death.  The  mar^chal  explained  that  it  was  far 
more  desirable  to  keep  them  bright  and  cheerful, 
whatever  might  befall  them,  than  to  oppress  their 
minds  with  gloom  and  the  terrors  of  an  approaching 
end.  Opinions  differed  on  the  subject,  but  no  one 
went  to  sleep. 

When  about  to  take  leave  of  the  queen,  the  mar^- 
chal  was  requested  by  her,  as  appropriately  conclud- 
ing their  serious  discussion,  to  join  with  her  circle  in 
prayer.  Of  course  he  willingly  assented.  An  arm- 
chair serving  as  a  prie-dieu^  was  then  placed  for  each 
person  in  front  of  a  large  crucifix  opposite  her  majes- 
ty's bed  (she  received  in  her  bed-chamber),  the  whole 
forming  a  semicircle.  The  queen  read,  as  was  her 
custom,  and  the  kneeling  company  responded.  All 
the  saints  in  the  litany  were  named  in  their  turn,  and 
as  each  name  was  pronounced,  "  Ora  pro  fiobis'*  was 
duly  ejaculated. 

The  list  was  a  long  one.  The  marechal  was  not  in 
robust  health.  The  ovation  at  the  opera,  and  his  long 
conversation  with  the  queen,  had  exhausted  him. 
Sooth  to  say,  or  shame  to  say,  he  fell  asleep  as  he 
knelt  in  his  arm-chair;  the  monotony  of  the  oft-re- 
peated "  Ora  pro  nobis"  overcoming  his  best  efforts  to 
keep  his  eyes  open. 

The  prayers  are  ended;  the  company  rise  from 
their  knees — all  except  the  marechal.     He  seems  to  be 


29^  'I'HE   OLD  rAgIME. 

buried  in  profound  meditation,  and  is  allowed  for  a 
few  minutes  to  remain  undisturbed.  The  pious  Marie 
Leczinska  knows  that  the  life  of  this  gallant  soldier 
is  not  free  from  blame,  and  she  hopes  that,  suddenly 
conscience-stricken,  a  conversion  may,  through  her, 
have  taken  place. 

But  he  stirs  not.  The  company,  in  a  circle,  stand 
gazing  upon  him  At  last  the  queen  approaches  him. 
*'  Come,  Monsieur  de  Saxe,''  she  says  softly,  "  that's 
enough  for  the  first  time."  There  is  no  response. 
Presently,  a  little  louder,  she  speaks,  now  somewhat 
doubtingly:  "Do  not  fatigue  yourself.  Monsieur  de 
Saxey  The  sleeper  is  partly  aroused,  and  in  a  loud 
voice,  to  make  up  for  long  silence,  begins,  "  Ora  pro 
nobis,  Ora  pro  nobis y  Even  the  queen  and  the  pious 
dauphin  cannot  resist  laughing,  and  the  marechal, 
now  fully  aware  of  what  has  happened,  rises  from  his 
knees,  and,  with  much  confusion  of  face,  apologizes 
to  the  queen  for  his  misdemeanor.  She  readily  takes 
into  consideration  his  fatiguing  campaign,  his  enfee- 
bled state  of  health,  and  willingly  pardons;  believing 
that  the  spirit  was  willing,  though  the  flesh  was  weak. 

How  different  the  scene  on  the  following  evening, 
when  the  marechal  was  received  by  the  brilliant  mar- 
quise! Her  guests  are  all  of  high  rank,  or  of  distin- 
guished attainments.  The  supper  prepared  for  them 
is  the  production  of  Mouthier,  the  famous  chef  of  the 
pehts  appartements,  and  a  man  more  considered  and  val- 
ued by  Louis  XV.  than  the  most  enlightened  of  his 
ministers  or  the  most  skilful  of  his  generals.  Mou- 
thier prides  himself  on  his  ancestry.  He  is  a  descend- 
ant of  a  long  line  of  famous  cooks,  an  illustrious  culi- 
nary family.  His  art,  he  firmly  believes,  is  the  first  in 
the   world — one  that,  rightly   regarded,  would   have 


more  real  influence  on  the  fate  of  nations  than  the 
wiliest  policy  of  all  the  most  able  diplomatists  of  Eu- 
rope combined. 

His  grandfather  was  chef  to  Louis  XIV.,  and  deep 
in  the  confidence  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  "a  very 
great  lady,"  he  says,  who,  following  the  gastronomic 
counsels  of  Mouthier,  managed  the  Grand  Afonarquc 
and  his  ministers  as  she  willed.  Faithful  to  the 
traditions  of  his  family,  the  younger  Mouthier  may 
have  imparted  these  culinary  secrets  to  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  and  her  twenty  years  of  omnipotence  in 
France  thus  be  accounted  for. 

At  all  events,  the  appointments  of  her  supper-table 
are  splendid,  the  arrangements  artistic,  and  M.  Mou- 
thier's  repast  no  less  so.  It  gives  evident  satisfaction 
to  all  who  partake  of  it;  it  is  mirth-inspiring,  as  the 
great  tfr/iV/^  probably  intended;  for  the  dullest  brain  is 
quickened,  and  some  sparkle  added  to  the  liveliest. 
Piquant  bon-mots  are  plentiful,  and  flashes  of  wit  fol- 
low each  other  in  quick  succession,  in  brilliant  rep- 
artee. 

The  toilets  of  the  ladies,  and  their  gracefully  ar- 
ranged coiffures  of  flowers  and  lace,  are  charming; 
while  the  perfect  taste  of  the  marquise — who  has 
brought  this  fashion  into  vogue — is  seen  in  the  ex- 
treme elegance  of  her  own  dress,  and  the  artistic  re- 
finement exhibited  in  the  furniture  and  embellish- 
ments of  her  apartment.  She  is  decidedly  the  star  of 
the  court,  this  ''^Jolie  marquise  bourgeoise^''  who,  unfor- 
tunately, loving  power,  to  obtain  it,  "  had  been  so 
weak,"  Marmontel  regretfully  observes,  *'as  to  wish 
to  please  the  king,  and  so  unfortunate  as  to  succeed.'* 
Her  conversation  fascinates  even  more  than  her  beauty 
attracts.      Her  vivacity  sets  the  bright   thoughts   in 


598  ^-^-^  OLD  rAgIME. 

motion  that  might  have  lain  dormant  in  other  minds, 
but  for  contact  with  her  own. 

Her  suppers  were  not  Bacchanalian  feasts,  like  those 
at  which,  in  their  youth,  Madame  de  Tencin,  Madame 
du  Deffant,  Madame  de  Caylus,  and  other  esprits  forts 
of  easy  manners,  assisted  under  the  regency.  The 
moral  tone  of  society  was  certainly  but  very  slightly 
improved.  But  the  habits  of  the  king's  earlier  years, 
and  the  grave  ministry  of  Fleury,  had  compelled 
profligacy  to  veil  itself;  and  if  the  men  and  women 
who  sat  at  the  table  of  the  Marquise  de  Pompadour — 
Madame  du  Chatelet  was  one  of  them — were  not  free 
from  vice,  they  at  least  did  not,  as  formerly,  boast  of 
it  as  meritorious. 

Society  was  probably  never  more  frivolous  and  cor- 
rupt than  from  about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century  to  the  dawn  of  the  Revolution.  Its  occupa- 
tions were  puerile;  the  conversation  of  the  fashionable 
salons — as  distinguished  from  the  three  or  four  philo- 
sophical and  literary  reunions — had  degenerated  into 
idle  gossip,  or  the  discussion  of  a  budget  of  scandalous 
reports.  Yet  at  no  time  did  the  society  so  pique  itself 
on  its  politeness — which  was  displayed  in  an  over- 
strained empressement,  that  gave  the  idea  of  friends 
and  acquaintances  being  intensely  interested  in  each 
other;  so  long,  of  course,  as  they  remained  together. 
Society,  with  its  falseness,  its  hollowness,  its  affected 
geniality,  and  deceptive  mask  of  politeness,  is  de- 
scribed with  much  force  and  piquancy  in  Madame 
de  Graffigny's  "  Lettres  d'une  Peruvienne." 

The  age  of  grand  manners  was  especially  that  of 
Louis  XIV.  All  the  formal  etiquette  which  then  kept 
ordinary  mortals  at  a  distance  from  the  sacred  person 
of  the  king  was  yet  rigidly  observed  at  Versailles,  and 


STATELY  POLITENESS,  ^99 

continued  to  be,  far  into  the  reign  of  the  unfortunate 
Louis  XVI.  But  ih^  grands  seigneurs  of  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century  were  far  less  grands  than  those 
of  the  preceding  one.  The  poets  and  literati  now  held 
up  their  heads  in  the  society  of  princes.  In  the  Louis 
XIV.  period  they  hardly  dared  hold  up  their  eyes;  and 
before  the  magnificent  Bashaw,  himself,  would  have 
felt  honored  to  be  permitted  to  grovel  on  their  knees 
— as  some  of  the  household  still  did  when  they  drank 
the  health  of  the  "  well-beloved."  But  the  old  r<fgime, 
with  its  grand  manners  and  stately  politeness,  was  in 
its  decadence.  Nothing  could  restore  its  prestige^  or 
prevent  the  spread  of  philosophism — destined  to  over- 
throw both  it  and  the  very  artificial  state  of  society 
under  which  alone  it  could  continue  to  exist.  Not 
that  politeness  was  altogether  extirpated  as  the  for- 
malities of  the  old  r<!^iW  died  out;  enough  of  it  sur- 
vived, and  remains  still,  to  entitle  French  society  to 
be  called  the  most  polished  and  agreeable  in  Europe. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

The  Young  Chevalier. — A  very  Gay  Carnival. — Marie  Josephe  de 
Saxe. — A  Weeping  Young  Bridegroom. — Court  Usages  Con- 
temned.— Popularity  of  the  Chevalier. — Peace  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle. — Charles  Edward  Arrested. — "  How  Time  Flies!*' — 
Public  Disapprobation. — The  Mass  in  London— 1748. 

On  the  20th  of  September,  1746,  a  small  French 
privateer,  hovering  near  the  coast  of  Scotland,  was 
seen  to  run  a  boat  inshore,  and  presently  to  receive 
on  board  a  poor,  weary-looking,  weather-beaten  wan- 
derer. As  soon  as  he  had  stepped  on  deck,  he  turned 
towards  the  inlet  where  he  had  embarked,  and  waved 
a  handkerchief,  as  a  signal,  maybe,  that  thus  far  all 
was  safe,  or,  perhaps,  as  a  final  adieu.  It  was  an- 
swered from  the  rocky  heights  above,  as  the  little 
craft,  crowding  all  sail,  speedily  got  under  way. 

It  was  the  gallant  young  Chevalier,  "  Bonnie  Prince 
Charlie,"  escaping  from  the  land  of  his  fathers.  Since 
the  fatal  defeat  at  Culloden,  he  had  for  five  months 
wandered,  a  lonely  fugitive,  wounded,  footsore,  and 
weakened  by  fatigue;  hiding  by  day  in  the  wild 
ravines  and  caverns  of  the  Highlands;  sleeping  in 
crevices  of  the  rocks,  exposed  to  all  weathers,  when 
no  hut  was  near  to  shelter  him,  and  suffering  from 
hunger  and  thirst.  Gay,  handsome,  courageous,  ad- 
venturous, romantic,  his  misfortunes  kindled  in  wo- 
men's hearts  the  deepest  sympathy  and  devotion. 
Tracked  from  place  to  place,  and  a  price  set  on  his 
head,  yet  none,  though  abhorring  him  as  a  Papist,  was 


A  VERY  GAY  CARNIVAL,  ^\ 

found  base  enough  to  earn  wealth  by  betraying  him; 
but  often,  when  recognized,  he  was  furnished  with 
some  disguise  that  enabled  him  to  elude  the  vigilance 
of  pursuers. 

On  the  loth  of  October  the  schooner,  which  had 
narrowly  escaped  capture  by  an  English  cruiser,  made 
for  the  port  of  Roscof,  near  Morlaix.  There,  in  a 
sailor's  dress,  the  prince  landed,  and  was  soon  on  his 
way  to  Paris.  He  was  received  by  the  people  with 
many  acclamations,  and  was  feted  and  entertained  at 
the  Hotel  de  Ville.  The  court  also  welcomed  him 
with  much  distinction.  Having  rested  from  his 
fatigues,  and  recovered  the  good  looks  which  his  five 
months  of  hard  living  had  somewhat  marred,  he 
created  a  great  sensation  amongst  the  ladies,  who  lost 
no  opportunity  of  magnifying  his  deeds  of  arms,  and 
extolling  him  as  a  hero  of  romance.  So  that  Prince 
Charlie  was  the  darling  ot  the  belles  of  Paris  that 
season,  as  well  as  of  the  belles  of  Bonnie  Scotland. 
And  a  very  gay  season  it  was — the  gayest  carnival 
that  had  been  known  for  years. 

There  was  again  a  royal  marriage  on  the  carpet. 
The  poor  young  dauphin  had  become  a  widower  in 
the  preceding  July,  and  a  second  bride  had  been 
chosen  for  him  ere  his  tears  were  dry  for  the  loss  of 
the  first,  to  whom  he  had  been  greatly  attached. 
While  he  wept  and  lamented  silently  and  alone  in  his 
chamber,  preparations  were  being  rapidly  urged  on 
for  court  balls  and  plays,  public  festivities  and  re- 
joicings. Many  were  the  intrigues  which  the  un- 
expected death  of  the  Spanish  infanta  occasioned. 
Each  party  strove  to  further  its  own  interests  at 
court  by  suggesting  to  the  king  a  princess  of  its  own 
choice. 


302 


THE  OLD  REGIME, 


The  queen  seemed  to  desire  an  Austrian  connec- 
tion. The  Jesuits  preferred  an  Italian  bride — a  niece, 
or  other  relative,  of  the  Pope.  But  the  Marechal  de 
Saxe,  then  so  popular  in  France,  and  all-powerful 
with  the  king,  proposed  his  own  niece  as  dauphine, 
Marie  Josephe  de  Saxe.  She  was  the  daughter  of  the 
marechal's  natural  brother,  the  Elector  of  Saxony, 
Augustus  III.  of  Poland,  who  had  supplanted  King 
Stanislaus.  Both  Marie  Leczinska  and  the  dauphin 
would  have  opposed  this  choice,  had  they  possessed 
any  influence.  Having  none,  their  objections  would 
only  have  met  with  a  curt  "y<?  le  veux,''  for  the  king 
approved;  and  his  decision  once  made,  for  good  or 
for  evil,  he  always  abided  by  it.  The  young  princess, 
however,  was  found  to  be  both  pretty  and  amiable; 
more  lively  and  agreeable,  the  court  generally  con- 
sidered, than  the  grave  and  pious  Spanish  infanta. 
The  feelings  of  the  queen  and  of  the  still  sorrowing 
dauphin  were  not  unknown  at  Dresden,  and  accord- 
ingly the  princess,  well  trained  in  the  part  she  had  to 
play,  evinced,  on  her  arrival  at  Versailles,  much  tender- 
ness towards  the  former,  much  sympathy  with  the 
latter. 

It  was  the  etiquette  of  the  time  that  the  bride 
should  wear,  in  a  diamond  bracelet,  the  miniature  of 
her  father.  The  queen  having  expressed  a  desire  to 
see  the  portrait  of  Augustus — to  whom  Stanislaus 
owed  so  many  of  his  troubles  and  years  of  poverty 
and  obscurity — the  young  princess,  presenting  the 
bracelet,  said,  "  See,  mamma,  what  a  good  likeness." 
It  proved  to  be  no  miniature  of  Augustus,  but  one  of 
the  queen's  father  she  was  wearing.  The  dauphin, 
poor  youth  (he  was  but  little  past  his  seventeenth 
year),  was  unable  to  restrain   his  emotion  and  tears 


COURT  USAGES  CONTEMNED.  303 

during  the  performance  of  the  marriage  ceremony. 
The  princess  perceived  it.  On  the  conclusion  of  the 
rite,  addressing  her  weeping  young  bridegroom,  she 
said,  "  Do  not  restrain  your  tears,  Monsieur;  they 
show  me  what  I  may  hope  from  your  esteem,  if  I  am 
so  fortunate  as  to  deserve  it." 

This  very  prim,  formal,  set  speech  is  found  in  all 
the  histories  and  memoirs,  authentic  and  otherwise, 
that  treat  of  the  events  of  that  period.  If  ever  uttered 
at  all — which,  as  with  so  many  other  silly  speeches 
and  sayings  recorded  as  the  wisdom  of  royalty,  is 
doubtful — it  proves  nothing  in  favor  of  the  young 
lady,  except  that  she  performed  the  part  she  had  been 
taught  remarkably  well.  She,  however,  knew  so  little 
of  the  French  language  that,  on  her  arrival,  she  was 
unable  to  make  herself  understood,  and  needed  the 
services  of  a  French  teacher — far  more  than  Marie 
Leczinska  had  once  needed  those  of  the  academician 
Moncrif,  to  correct  the  inelegancies  she  had  contracted 
from  a  bourgeoise  instructress.  The  dauphin  himself 
undertook  to  teach  his  bride  French,  and  it  was  while 
pursuing  their  linguistic  studies  that  the  young  couple 
fell  in  love.  The  disgust  of  the  court  may  be  imag- 
ined, when  the  scandal  was  confirmed  that  the  dau- 
phine,  of  whom  better  things  had  been  expected,  ac- 
tually was  content  to  live  happily  with  her  husband 
in  bourgeois  fashion.  It  was  shameful  thus  to  con- 
temn the  usages  of  the  court,  and  openly  to  reprove 
the  king.  What  an  unfortunate  father!  What  an 
undutiful  son!     What  a  silly  young  bride! 

None,  perhaps,  had  more  enjoyed  the  festivities  of 
this  brilliant  carnival,  or  entered  with  more  zest  into 
the  rather  prolonged  gayeties  of  the  marriage /<f/^i-  than 
Prince  Charles  Edward.    He  is  said  to  have  exhibited 


304  ^-^^   ^^^  REGIME. 

a  fair  share  of  French  volatility,  and  while  forgetting 
his  own  fatigues  in  the  pleasures  and  dissipations  of 
Paris,  to  have  evinced  neither  sorrow  nor  sympathy 
for  the  sufferings — far  greater  than  his  own — of  those 
who  had  followed  his  fortunes  and  supported  his 
cause.  But  at  that  time,  as  an  opponent  of  England, 
he  was  popular  in  France  with  all  classes — from  the 
court  to  the  people.  The  ladies,  with  greater  admira- 
tion for  his  personal  qualities,  vied  with  each  other  in 
seeking  his  good  graces.  Amongst  the  nobility  many 
were  willing,  even  eager,  to  form  a  matrimonial  alli- 
ance with  him.  He  probably  thought  that  an  honor 
too  great  to  confer  on  any  noble  house.  Royalty, 
though  fallen,  must  wed  with  royalty;  and  the  queen, 
with  little  reason,  put  an  end  to  the  hopes  of  many  a 
beauty,  by  announcing  that  one  of  her  daughters  was 
destined  for  the  prince. 

But  Madame  de  Pompadour  began  to  be  desirous  of 
peace.  The  king,  at  her  instance,  had  once  more  vis- 
ited the  armies,  and  the  Marechal  de  Saxe  undertaken 
to  bring  about  peace  by  new  conquests.  M.  de  Saint- 
Severin  was  sent  to  England  to  negotiate,  while  the 
mar6chal  besieged  the  strong  places  of  Holland.  The 
much-desired  peace,  of  which  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
as  first  minister,  took  to  herself  the  chief  credit,  though 
the  precipitancy  with  which  it  was  concluded  met  with 
much  disapproval — France  gaining  nothing  by  eight 
years  of  war  but  an  addition  of  twelve  million  livres 
to  her  debt — was  definitively  signed  at  Aix-la-Cha- 
pelle,  on  the  8th  of  October,  1748. 

Immediately  after,  instead  of  giving  Charles  Ed- 
ward his  daughter  in  marriage,  Louis  XV.  despatched 
the  Marquis  de  Puisieux  with  an  order  to  the  prince 
to  quit  the  kingdom.     Several   previous   intimations 


CHARLES  EDWARD  ARRESTED.  305 

had  been  given  him  that  it  was  desirable  he  should 
voluntarily  do  so.  He  had  chosen  to  disregard  them. 
He  now  set  at  naught  the  king's  order,  and  made  the 
Parisians  aware  that  he  was  to  be  ejected,  in  compli- 
ance with  the  demand  of  the  English.  At  once  his 
popularity  increased,  and  he  fancied  that  any  attempt 
to  use  force  to  eject  him  would  be  resented  by  the 
people.  He  was,  however,  quietly  arrested  in  the  cor- 
ridor of  the  Opera;  precautions  having  been  taken,  as 
it  was  known  he  was  armed,  to  prevent  any  resistance. 
The  Marquis  de  Vaudreuil  then  conducted  him  to 
Vincennes. 

After  three  days'  confinement,  the  Comte  de  Mau- 
repas  was  sent  to  apologize  for  the  severity  of  this 
treatment,  on  the  ground  of  imperative  necessity. 
Also,  to  inform  him  that  he  was  free  to  retire  to  any 
country  he  chose,  on  giving  his  word  of  honor  not  to 
return  to  France,  until  the  ministry  had  come  to  an 
arrangement  with  England  on  that  point.  The  king 
— who  had  a  liking  for  the  young  Chevalier,  and  ad- 
mired the  chivalric  spirit  that  would  have  led  him, 
with  very  slight  encouragement,  again  to  strike  a  blow 
for  the  English  crown — is  said  to  have  much  regret- 
ted that  he  could  not  act  otherwise  than  rigorously 
towards  him. 

It  appears,  however,  that  an  asylum  in  France  might 
possibly  have  been  conceded  by  the  Treaty,  had  the 
Chevalier  been  fully  aware  of  the  position  of  Madame 
de  Pompadour.  He  paid  his  court  to  her,  as  to  a 
young  and  charming  woman  who  pleased  the  king, 
and  whose  energy  and  animation  had  given  vogue  to 
other  entertainments  in  the  dull  court  of  Louis  XV. 
than  the  customary  dreary  round  of  excessive  eating 
and  drinking.     Her  conspicuous  talent  and  wonder- 


3o6  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

ful  resource  had  enabled  her  to  multiply  and  vary  the 
amusements  in  a  manner  that  excited  his  surprise  and 
admiration.  She  had  accomplished  a  task  that  the 
sagacious  Madame  de  Maintenon  confessedly  had 
failed  in — that  of  "amusing  a  man  who  was  no  longer 
amusable" — having  drawn  from  the  king  an  exclama- 
tion on  the  rapid  flight  of  time. 

Oppressed  by  indolence  and  his  own  gloomy 
thoughts,  it  had  been  the  habit  of  his  life  to  complain 
that  the  days  and  the  hours  moved  wearily  on  with 
leaden  feet;  but  when  his  sluggish  mind  was  awak- 
ened to  take  some  degree  of  interest  in  the  new  amuse- 
ments and  pursuits  created  for  him  by  the  marquise, 
he  had  several  times  remarked,  with  surprise,  "Ah! 
how  time  flies  !"  The  young  Chevalier  did  not  know 
that  the  bodily  fatigue  and  labor  of  brain  undergone 
by  this  accomplished  lady  were  very  far  less  the  re- 
sults of  her  love  for  the  king  than  her  love  of  minis- 
terial power,  and  that  she  might  probably  have  taken 
up  his  cause,  had  he  sought  her  in  her  "  bureau  of 
office,"  instead  of  complimenting  her  like  other  dang- 
lers at  her  toilet.  He  did  not  comprehend  this;  yet 
she  treated  him  graciously — as  she  would  any  other 
fine  young  man  whose  misfortunes  she  pitied,  and 
whom  she  would  have  endeavored  to  serve,  had  he 
asked  her.  She  thought  him  a  desirable  acquisition 
to  the  general  court  circle;  and  when  he  went  his  way 
she,  as  well  as  the  king,  bade  him  adieu  with  regret. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  has  been  asserted  that  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour,  aware  that  the  prince  confided 
in  the  generosity  of  Louis  XV.  to  afford  him — as 
promised  before  his  embarkation  for  England — a  ref- 
uge in  France,  should  he  need  it,  reminded  the  king 
of  it  when  the  an  est  was  ordered,  and  spoke  warmly 


PUBLIC  DISAPPROBA  TION*  307 

in  the  prince's  favor,  Louis  is  said  to  have  been  ex- 
tremely annoyed  by  the  urgency  of  her  appeal,  and  to 
have  replied,  even  angrily,  "What  would  you  have 
me  do,  Madame?  Must  I  ruin  my  kingdom  because 
the  son  of  the  Chevalier  Saint  George  likes  to  live 
in  Paris  ?"  He  was,  in  fact,  supine  only  because 
France  had  no  navy,  and  was  in  this  respect  powerless 
against  England.  The  Parisian  public,  however,  ex- 
pressed their  disapprobation  of  the  king's  expulsion 
of  the  young  Chevalier,  in  their  usual  mode  of  giving 
vent  to  their  feelings  and  opinions.  Epigrams  innu- 
merable, more  or  less  keen  and  cutting;  ribald  jests, 
songs  of  the  Pont-Neuf^  assailed  the  ears  of  royalty — 
for  by  some  means  they  always  found  their  way  to 
Versailles.  At  the  theatres,  every  speech,  every  sen- 
tence of  a  play,  that  could  be  turned  into  an  allusion 
to  the  people's  cause  of  displeasure,  was  seized  on  by 
the  audience  and  applauded  vociferously — none  more 
so  than  the  line — 

"  II  est  roi  dans  les  fers;  qu'fttes-vous  sur  le  tr6ne  ?"  * 

There  were  many  who  would  have  had  the  king,  at 
all  hazards,  go  to  war  for  the  cause  of  the  young  Pre- 
tender, and  believed  the  people  of  England  to  be  so 
anxious  to  receive  him  that  "a  French  corporal  and 
three  grenadiers  could  place  him  on  the  throne."  But 
Louis  XV.  followed  the  wiser  counsels  of  one  who  told 
him,  "  Sire,  it  is  impossible;  and  if  your  majesty  wishes 
mass  said  in  London,  five  hundred  thousand  men  will 
be  needed  to  serve  it."  Alas  for  Protestantism! 
what  a  change  has  since  come  over  the  spirit  of  the 
nation! 

*  "  He  is  royal  in  chains;  what  are  you  on  the  throne  ?" 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

The  Salon  of  Mdme.  Geoff rin. — A  Graduate  of  the  Salons. — 
Marie  Therese  Rodet. — Les  Glaces  des  Gobelins, — A  Con- 
stant Dinner-Guest. — Anecdotes  of  M.  Geoff  rin. — A  Student 
of  History. — A  Bourgeois  Household. — "  La  Fontenelle  des 
Femmes." — An  Aged  Gallant. — A  Cherished  Antique. — The 
Pastorals  of  Sceaux. — "  Le  Grand  Prosateur." — The  Well  of 
Ste.  Genevieve. — A  Joke  of  the  Salons. — Grandeur  and  Fri- 
volity.— In  Quest  of  Conversation, — From  St.  Louis  to  St. 
Honor6. 

The  certain  though  gradual  passing  away  of  the 
exclusiveness  which  had  once  been  so  rigorously  ob- 
served in  the  aristocratic  society  of  the  old  French 
regime  was  nowhere  more  conspicuously  marked  than 
in  the  rapidly  rising  celebrity  of  the  salon  of  Madame 
Geoffrin.  It  was  already  in  great  repute,  and  fre- 
quented by  persons  of  rank  and  distinction,  though 
Madame  Geoffrin  herself,  both  by  birth  and  by  mar- 
riage, could  but  be  classed  with  the  middle  class  of 
citizens. 

"Her  salon,''  says  Sainte-Beuve,  "was  the  best  re- 
gulated, best  conducted,  and  most  firmly  established 
of  any  salon  in  France,  since  the  days  of  the  famous 
Hotel  de  Rambouillet.  It  was,  in  fact,  one  of  the 
institutions  of  the  eighteenth  century."  By  the  death 
of  Madame  de  Tencin,  who  for  some  time  had  been  in 
failing  health,  and  the  more  sudden  and  unexpected 
one  of  the  Marquise  du  Chatelet,  in  1749,  two  of  the 
most  distinguished  of  the  literary  and  philosophical 


THE  SALON  OP  MDM£.  GEOFPRm.  3(^9 

ialons  were  closed.  The  men  of  genius  and  of  letters, 
philosophers,  eminent  artistes^  and  all  who  composed 
the  social  circle  of  those  ladies,  passed  over,  as  if  by 
right  of  inheritance,  to  the  salon  of  Madame  Geoffrin. 

Not  that  an  entirely  new  society  was  thus  formed. 
There  were  indeed  but  few  first  appearances  in  her 
circle,  but,  generally,  those  who  now  became  the  habit- 
ual frequenters  of  her  salon  had  before  been  but  occa- 
sional visitors.  "Ah!  the  crafty  little  woman,"  ex- 
claimed Madame  de  Tencin,  when,  in  her  last  illness, 
Madame  Geoffrin  assiduously  visited  her,  "  she  comes 
to  entrap  my  animals."  The  animals  were  considered 
as  more  rightfully  the  property  of  Madame  du  Def- 
fant.  Her  salon  had  been  established  some  years 
when  Madame  Geoffrin  threw  open  the  doors  of  her 
hotel,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honor^,  and  invited  the  fashion- 
able world,  the  philosophers,  and  literati  to  enter  her 
salon  bourgeois — destined  shortly  to  eclipse  all  others 
and  to  obtain  European  renown.  She  was  not  then 
in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  beauty,  but  had  arrived  at 
that  discreet  period  of  life  usually  called  middle  age, 
and  which  supposes  a  general  expectation  of  com- 
pleting a  century — Madame  Geoffrin  was  bordering 
on  fifty. 

It  would  have  been  late  in  the  day  to  have  acquired 
such  wide-spread  social  celebrity  had  she  only  then 
made  her  debut  in  society.  But,  possessed  of  ample 
means,  she  had  for  several  years  past  been  quietly  re- 
ceiving, and  been  herself  well  received  by  such  leaders 
of  society  as  Madame  de  Tencin,  Mesdames  de  For- 
calquier  and  Dupin,  as  well  as  in  the  limited  but  re- 
fined circle  of  Madame  de  Graffigny.  She  had  grad- 
uated, as  it  were,  in  the  salons  of  the  beau  monde.  Be- 
ing a  keen  observer,  though  but  indifferently  educated, 


jjo  ^^^  ^^^  rAgime. 

she  had  acquired  there  the  most  charming  ease 
of  manner,  and  a  dignified  repose,  that  harmonized 
well  with  her  pleasing  personal  appearance  and  her 
admirable  taste  in  dress.  She  wore  very  fine  laces, 
and  the  richest  materials,  either  black,  or  of  subdued 
shades  of  gray;  and  without  departing  conspicuously 
from  the  fashions  of  the  time,  modified  them  con- 
siderably, to  suit  her  age  and  her  tall  slight  figure. 

As  hostess,  her  tact  was  perfect,  and  she  is  said  to 
have  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree  that  ^^  savoir 
vivre  which  consists  in  putting  every  one  in  his  proper 
place,  and  keeping  one's  own."  Her  opinions  were 
rather  deeply  tinctured  with  the  prevailing  philosophy 
of  the  age.  But  she  had  her  tribune^  or  private  seat, 
at  the  church  of  the  Capucines,  where  the  queen  and 
the  dauphine  performed  their  devotions,  as  she  had  her 
box  at  the  Theatre  des  Bouffons  and  the  Theatre 
Fran9ais,  where  she  sometimes  received  the  visits  of 
her  friends. 

This  celebrated  dame  bourgeois^  who  for  twenty-five 
years  was  the  centre  of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  social, 
literary,  artistic,  and  philosophic  circles  of  Paris,  was 
the  daughter  of  a  valet-de-chambre  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Bourgogne,  the  mother  of  Louis  XV.  Of  a  specu- 
lative turn,  he  had  risked  a  small  sum,  and  gained  a 
very  large  one,  when  the  Systeme  Law  was  in  opera- 
tion. He  was  thus  enabled  to  give  a  handsome  dowry 
to  his  daughter,  Mdlle.  Marie  Therese  Rodet,  when 
she  married  the  thriving  bourgeois^  M.  Geoffrin.  He 
was  the  founder  (or  is  generally  so  called)  of  the 
Manufacture  de  glaces  des  Gobelins,*  also  a  lieuten- 

*  The  actual  founder  of  this  establishment  was  Rivi6re-Du- 
freyny,  who,  in  1654,  under  the  patronage  of  Colbert,  obtained  for 


A   CONSTANT  DINNER  CUEST.  31 1 

ant-colonel  of  the  bourgeois  militia.  This  was  an 
honorary  post,  without  duties  or  emolument,  which 
gave  him  a  sort  of  importance  in  his  own  and  his 
neighbors'  eyes,  but  interfered  not  with  his  habits  of 
industry  and  strict  attention  to  the  business  by  which 
he  eventually  realized  a  large  fortune. 

As  there  was  something  artistic  in  M.  Geoffrin's 
occupation,  it  brought  him  in  contact  with  persons  of 
rank  and  wealth,  with  whom  he  became  so  far  inti. 
mate  that  they  did  not  disdain  to  partake  of  his  libe- 
ral hospitalities — rfcherch/s  dinners,  etc.  His  tastes 
were  so  far  in  harmony  with  those  of  his  wife,  that  he 
rather  encouraged  than  checked  her  inclination  for 
society  and  her  efforts  to  form  a  distinguished  circle 
of  her  own.  M.  and  Madame  Geoffrin  connected 
themselves,  if  only  in  idea,  with  the  nobility  by  marry- 
ing their  only  daughter  to  the  Marquis  de  La  Fert^- 
Imbault.  When  M.  Geoffrin,  who  was  considerably 
older  than  his  wife,  either  retired  from  business  or 
gave  up  its  management  into  younger  hands,  he  be- 
came Madame  Geoffrin's  major-domo,  and  performed 
the  duties  of  his  office  admirably. 

For  some  years  there  sat  at  the  bottom  of  Madame 

it  a  privilege  or  patent,  which  he  afterwards  sold  to  a  company. 
At  that  time  the  plates  of  glass  were  merely  blown,  and  the 
largest  did  not  exceed  four  feet  in  dimension.  But  in  1688  a  me- 
thod of  melting  the  glass  and  running  it  into  moulds  was  invented 
by  Lucas  de  Nehon.  This  was  done  at  a  manufactory,  on  a  large 
scale,  at  St.  Gobin,  in  Picardy;  the  sheets  of  glass  being  sent  to 
Paris  for  polishing,  framing,  etc.  Better  glass  was  obtained  by 
this  process,  as  well  as  mirrors  of  a  much  larger  size.  The  Vene- 
tian mirrors,  consequently,  became  less  in  demand.  M,  Geoffrin 
was  therefore  not  the  founder  of  the  manufactory,  but  one  of  the 
founder's  successors — though  he  may,  probably,  have  made  some 
improvements  on  De  Nehon's  process. 


3I2  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

Geoffrin's  dinner  and  supper  table  a  dignified-looking, 
white-haired  old  gentleman;  bland  in  his  manners, 
but  very  modest  and  retiring;  speaking  only  when 
spoken  to,  but  looking  very  happy  when  the  guests 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  good  cheer  set  before  them. 
When,  at  last,  his  accustomed  place  became  vacant, 
and  some  brilliant  butterfly  of  Madame's  circle  of 
"  occasional  visitors" — who  perhaps  had  smiled  pat- 
ronizingly on  the  silent  old  gentleman — noticing  his 
absence,  perchance  would  carelessly  inquire  what  had 
become  of  her  constant  dinner-guest,  she  would  re- 
ply, "Why,  that  was  my  husband.  Alas!  he's  dead, 
poor  man" — so  little  was  the  consideration  shown  to 
this  worthy  creature  in  his  own  house.  Yet  it  both 
pleased  and  amused  him  silently  to  gaze  on  the  throng 
of  rank,  fashion,  and  learning  assembled  in  his  wife's 
salons^  and  to  witness  her  social  success. 

Numerous  anecdotes  are  told  of  M.  Geoffrin,  of 
which  one  may  well  question  the  veracity.  Evidently 
this  bourgeois  gentilhomme  was  not  fitted  to  play  his  part 
in  society  with  the  tact  and  easy  grace  that  distin- 
guished his  wife.  But  it  may  be  doubted  whether  a 
man  who  for  many  years  had  successfully  conducted 
an  important  establishment,  requiring  much  intelli- 
gence in  its  management,  was  so  nearly  idiotic  as 
many  of  these  anecdotes  seem  to  represent  him.  He 
is  said  to  have  been  recommended  to  read  a  cer- 
tain historical  work,  the  first  volume  being  then  lent 
to  him,  and  afterwards  changed,  as  he  supposed, 
through  five  or  six  volumes  unto  the  end.  The  same 
first  volume,  however,  was  always  returned  to  him,  he 
reading  it  over  and  over  again,  quite  unconscious  of 
the  joke  of  his  friends.  When  asked  his  opinion  of 
the   work,   he   said,   "It    was    extremely    interesting, 


A   STUDENT  OF  HISTORY.  313 

though  he  had  met  with  a  few  repetitions,  which  the 
author,  he  fancied,  might  have  avoided."  Also  he 
appears  to  have  been  a  student  of  "  Bayle's  Ency- 
clopaedia." But  the  book  being  printed  in  double 
columns,  he  read  them  together  as  one;  often  remark, 
ing  that  "  it  was  a  most  abstruse  work." 

The  President  H6nault  being  one  of  Madame 
Geoffrin's  faithful  followers,  M.  Geoffrin  thought  it 
right  to  read  his  "  Histoire  Chronologique,"  and  was 
much  surprised  after  a  diligent  perusal  to  learn  from  it 
that  Louis  XIII.  was  not  the  son  of  Louis  XII.,  and 
Henri  IV.  the  son  of  Henry  III.;  and  so  on.  With 
this  enlightened  study  of  history,  philosophy,  and 
geography,  his  favorite  subjects,  he  profitably  em- 
ployed the  leisure  hours  of  the  evening  of  his  life,  the 
results  being  as  amusing  to  his  literary  friends  as 
they  were  interesting  to  himself.  Yet  he  had  brains, 
taste,  and  skill  enough  to  produce  in  his  manufactory 
the  splendid  mirrors  that  rivalled  or  surpassed  those 
of  Venice,  and  that  formed  some  of  the  most  tasteful 
ornaments  of  the  royal  palaces  and  hotels  of  the 
nobility — acquiring  a  handsome  fortune  by  his  in- 
dustry. 

The  Marquis  d'Argenson,  a  great  frequenter  of  the 
salons^  refers  in  his  "  Memoires,"  though  without  men- 
tioning names,  to  the  household  arrangements  of  M. 
Geoffrin,  and  the  part  he  took  in  them. 

"I  could  name,"  he  says,  "a  certain  household,  the 
master  of  which  is  a  man  of  very  ample  means,  where 
the  usual  order  of  things  in  bourgeois  families  is  en- 
tirely reversed — the  husband  taking  upon  himself  the 
duties  of  the  wife;  and  he  performs  them  well.  He 
spends  his  mornings  in  settling  accounts,  ordering  the 
dinners   and    suppers,  and,  with   the  aid  of  his   chef^ 


^14  fttE   OLD  rAgIMM. 

preparing  the  menu.  The  mistress  of  this  establish- 
ment has  the  reputation  of  being  une  fcmme  d'esprit. 
She  is  epigrammatic  and  sarcastic,  without  any  ill- 
nature;  but  her  husband,  who  is  entirely  at  her  orders, 
though  he  takes  his  place  at  her  table,  rarely  ventures 
to  utter  a  remark.  He  is,  however,  a  strict  man  with 
his  servants.  If  he  perceives  any  neglect,  or  any  defect 
in  the  repast,  he  reprimands  them  severely;  and  they 
respect  him,  though  they  also  fear  him.  He  has  even 
been  known  to  remonstrate  with  his  lady  wife,  when 
her  expenditure,  though  she  is  a  prudent  woman,  and 
he  a  liberal  man,  has  seemed  to  him  larger  than  neces- 
sary." 

Notwithstanding  these  excellent  qualities,  the  period 
of  Madame  Geoffrin's  greatest  celebrity  was  after  her 
husband's  death,  when  the  large  fortune  came  entirely 
under  her  own  management.  She  has  been  called 
"  La  Fontenelle  des  femmes^''  her  idea  of  happiness,  like 
that  great  philosopher's,  consisting  in  the  absence  of 
all  disquietude  in  her  social  surroundings,  and  all  dis- 
turbance of  the  serenity  of  her  mind.  But  the  desire 
to  sail  on  summer  seas,  and  to  have  the  path  of  life 
spread  with  a  velvet-pile  carpet,  is  as  little  uncommon, 
even  in  these  days,  as  it  was  in  those  of  Fontenelle 
and  Madame  Geoffrin,  In  her  wish,  however,  that 
the  even  tenor  of  her  life  should  run  on  smoothly  and 
undisturbed,  she  was  not  so  selfishly  influenced  as 
Fontenelle.  Her  happiness  included  the  happiness  of 
others;  for  she  was  kind-hearted  and  benevolent  in  the 
extreme — glad  to  be  of  service,  assisting  many  with 
her  purse,  and,  where  that  availed  not,  affording  her 
hearty  sympathy.  Marmontel  was  one  of  her  especial 
favorites;  but,  generally,  she  was  interested  in  the 
success  of   young  literary  men,  introducing  them  to 


AU  AGED  CALLA^T.  31  § 

the  princes  and  courtiers  who  visited  her;  some  such 
patronage,  even  then,  having  its  value. 

Fontenelle,  at  the  age  of  ninety-four,  was  still  a 
dangler  in  the  salons.  He  was  always  considered  par- 
simonious, never  offering,  or  expressing  any  wil- 
lingness, to  aid  a  needy  literary  friend.  Yet  this 
was  less,  it  would  seem,  from  actual  parsimony  than 
from  a  determination  to  thrust  from  him  all  that 
was  unpleasant  to  the  eye  or  painful  to  the  thoughts. 
But  Madame  GeofTrin  frequently  obtained  from  him 
large  subscriptions  for  benevolent  purposes.  She 
would  tell  him  of  certain  individuals  in  whom  she  was 
interested — well  known  to  him  in  most  cases — who 
had  either  fallen  into  poverty  or  met  with  some 
catastrophe,  and  whom  it  was  desirable  to  assist.  He 
would  express  his  regret  or  surprise,  and  his  approval 
of  her  plans;  when  she  would  say,  "  May  I  depend  on 
you  for  forty  or  fifty  louis  ?"  "  Certainly,  madame," 
he  immediately  replied;  "I  thank  you  for  reminding 
me  of  it."  Fontenelle,  therefore,  should  not  be  too 
harshly  judged;  for  it  is  not  every  one  who  will  do 
what  is  considered  to  be  his  duty,  simply  by  being 
reminded  of  it. 

It  was  in  Madame  Geoffrin's  salon  that  Fontenelle, 
wishing  still  to  be  gallant,  although  half  way  between 
ninety  and  a  hundred,  observing  that  a  lady  had 
dropped  her  glove,  rose  from  his  seat  with  the  inten- 
tion of  presenting  it  to  her.  In  attempting  to  stoop 
to  pick  it  up,  he  fell  forward  on  his  knees.  In  an  in- 
stant he  was  surrounded.  Such  a  panic  among  the 
ladies  !  such  a  lamentation  over  their  "  dear  Fonte- 
nelle !"  For,  as  was  remarked,  "  there  was  as  much 
fussing  over  him  in  the  salons,  and  as  much  care  taken 
of  him,  as  though  he  had  been  a  rare  work  of  art.  or 


3l6  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

a  valuable  piece  of  old  china."  On  this  occasion  he 
was  tenderly  assisted  to  get  up  again  on  his  feet,  but 
not  until  he  had  on  his  knees,  as  he  said,  begged  pardon 
of  all  those  beautiful  ladies  for  his  extreme  awkward- 
ness. "Alas!  dear  ladies,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  am  no 
longer  eighty  !"  At  that  youthful  period  of  his  life 
he  would  have  picked  up  a  lady's  glove  with  alacrity. 
Now,  alas  !  he  was  getting  somewhat  into  years,  and 
fair  ladies  must  take  the  will  for  the  deed. 

The  Marquis  d'Argenson,  after  the  death  of  Madame 
de  Lambert,  wandered  from  salon  to  salon^  seeking 
peace,  but  finding  everywhere  a  Babel  of  tongues. 
He  was  yearning  for  conversation,  but  in  that  self- 
asserting  age  there  was  nothing  but  talking.  Listen- 
ing had  gone  out  of  fashion  with  true  politeness.  For 
his  own  part,  he  tells  us,  he  had  given  up  the  quest, 
and  had  taken  the  resolution  "  to  retire  and  keep  si- 
lence." But  old  habits  are  often  not  easily  overcome. 
D'Argenson  himself  was  a  great  talker;  but  a  talker 
of  the  old  school.  He  did  not  carry  with  him  to 
the  social  reunion  a  budget  of  scandal,  determined, 
whether  listened  to  or  not,  to  leave  none  of  it  untold. 
He  liked  a  long  learned  disquisition,  and  preferred  to 
take  the  leading  part  in  it — more  after  the  pattern  of 
Rambouillet. 

The  last  souvenirs  of  the  Rambouillet  days  still 
lingered,  it  was  said,  in  the  chateau  and  gardens  of 
Sceaux,  where  the  Duchesse  du  Maine,  setting  at 
naught  her  threescore  and  ten  years,  still  masqueraded 
with  her  guests.  Chloes  and  Strephons,  with  their 
crooks  and  their  lambs,  would  spend  the  soft  twilight 
of  the  summer  nights  rambling  in  shady  groves,  re- 
posing by  purling  streams,  or  supping  in  grottoes  on 
white  bread  and  honey,  fresh  fruits  and  cream,  until 


*'LE   GRAND  PROSATEUH."  317 

the  twittering  of  birds  and  the  rosy  hue  of  the  eastern 
sky  warned  this  party  of  imbeciles  that  it  was  time  to 
confide  their  bleating  young  lambs  to  the  care  of  a 
real  shepherd,  and  that  they  should  return  to  the  cha- 
teau— the  ladies  to  repair  the  injuries  done  to  patches 
and  paint;  the  gentlemen  to  write  sonnets  on  the 
little  hump-backed  duchess's  beauty.  The  grounds 
of  Sceaux  were  specially  arranged  for  these  pastoral 
frolics. 

But  it  was  not  a  travesty  of  the  sentimentalities  of 
the  Rambouillet  school  that  d'Argenson  pined  for; 
but  something  that  bore  a  resemblance  to  its  salon 
causeur.  A  modification  of  it,  doubtless.  Not  one  of 
those  oratorical  exhibitions  by  which  Jean  Louis  Bal- 
zac, "  le  grand  prosateur,"  charmed  a  listening  circle 
of  pedantic  and  romantic  belles  and  beaux — while  the 
clever  and  amiable  Madeleine  de  Scud^ry  played  the 
part  of  the  recording  angel.  Sitting  at  Balzac's  feet, 
she  noted  down  his  eloquent  words;  the  next  post 
conveying  them,  in  multiplied  copies,  to  the  further- 
most limits  of  France. 

Ah !  M.  d'Argenson,  your  sad,  perturbed  spirit  will 
ne'er  be  at  rest  if,  in  the  degenerate  days  you  have 
fallen  on,  you  seek  in  the  boudoir  of  beauty,  or  the 
salon  of  a  free-thinker,  mental  aliment  of  that  sub- 
stantial kind.  A  flavorless  apology  for  it  is  reported 
to  exist  in  the  salon  of  the  Marquise  du  Deffant.  But 
this  is  an  error.  Her  ennui  has  already  ennuye  many 
of  her  former  circle;  and  they  have  migrated  to  the 
hotel  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  The  unfortunate  mar- 
quise, to  add  to  her  weariness  of  existence,  is  at  this 
time  threatened  with  blindness.  Sad  as  is  the  inflic- 
tion, an  incident  connected  with  it  has  been  the  occa- 
sion of  much  laughter  and  mirth  in  the  thoughtless 
society  of  Paris. 


3l8  THE   OLD  REGIME, 

Madame  du  Deffant,  a  free-thinker,  and  professedly 
without  any  religious  belief,  or,  as  she  said  herself, 
"believing  in  nothing,"  had  secretly,  with  her  friend, 
Pont  de  Veyle,  gone  to  Nanterre,  to  drink  of  the  well 
of  Ste.  Genevieve.  There,  miraculous  cures  of  blind- 
ness and  diseases  of  the  eyes  were  supposed  to  take 
place,  when,  after  devotional  homage  to  the  statue,  the 
waters  were  drunk  with  faith  in  the  power  and  will  of 
the  saint  to  confer  the  boon  applied  for.  Two  of  her 
acquaintances,  happening  to  be  travelling  that  way, 
had  visited  the  well  from  curiosity;  for  usually  it  was 
surrounded  by  suppliants  and  devotees,  who  often 
came  from  afar  to  seek  a  cure  for  themselves,  or  to 
bring  gifts  to  secure  a  similar  favor  for  others.  What, 
then,  was  their  surprise  to  see  the  Marquis  de  Pont 
de  Veyle  among  the  throng ! 

He  was  not  drinking  of  the  miracle-working  waters 
himself,  but  waiting  for  a  woman  to  whom  a  draught 
had  been  handed;  a  stout,  elderly  woman,  enveloped, 
as  if  for  concealment,  in  an  ample  cloak,  and  wearing 
a  close  hood.  She  proved  to  be  the  now  nearly  blind 
Madame  du  Deffant,  who,  while  doubting  the  existence 
of  God,  was  not  free  from  the  superstition  of  suppos- 
ing that  some  sort  of  godlike  power  dwelt  in  the  image 
of  a  mythical  saint.  The  marquise  and  her  friend 
departed,  unrecognized,  as  they  believed;  but  the 
secret  expedition  to  Ste.  Genevieve's  well  was  too 
good  a  joke  to  remain  unrevealed  by  \\.^r  soi-disant 
friends.  It  went  the  round  of  the  salons^  inspired 
many  an  epigram,  and  became  the  subject  of  much 
jesting;  no  pity,  apparently,  being  felt  for  the  infirmity 
which  had  been  the  cause  of  her  weakness.  She,  how- 
ever, determined,  as  day  by  day  the  gloom  and  ob- 
scurity increased,  and  darkness  seemed  closing  around 


GRANDEUR  AND  FRIVOLITY,  319 

her,  to  leave  for  awhile  the  noise  and  the  bustle  and 
the  giddy  life  of  Paris,  with  the  hope  of  finding  relief 
in  the  quietude  of  a  family  chiteau  and  her  native  air 
of  Burgundy. 

It  was  not  then  in  the  salon  of  the  marquise  that  the 
fastidious  d'Argenson  could  meet  with  conversation 
that  pleased  him.  He  went  on  carping  at  everything; 
finding  fault  with  everybody,  and  confiding  his  dis- 
content to  the  pages  of  his  journal.  "  France  is  fall- 
ing into  decay,"  he  wrote,  "  and  soon  we  shall  have  no 
good  talkers  in  society.  No  good  dramatic  authors, 
either  in  tragedy  or  comedy;  no  good  music  or  paint- 
ing; no  palaces  built.  Critics  only  will  remain  to  us 
— for  the  age  is  becoming  ignorant,  and  the  greater  its 
ignorance,  the  more  it  becomes  critical  and  contempt- 
uous." But  d'Argenson  was  one  of  the  severest  of 
critics;  though  he  was  but  just  when  he  designated 
the  eighteenth  century  "  the  age  of  perfection  in  bag- 
atelles;" adding,  "as  we  have  degenerated  in  great 
things,  we  have  risen  in  trifles." 

He  did  not  immediately  recognize  the  great  social 
merits  of  Madame  Geoffrin,  but  thought  it  would  have 
been  more  consistent  with  her  position  to  content  her- 
self with  being  a  good  housewife,  instead  of  aspiring 
to  be  a  leader  of  the  best  society.  Her  point  of  de- 
parture, however,  being  the  possession  of  a  large  for- 
tune— without  which  she  could  not,  of  course,  have 
achieved  European  fame — she  was  fully  justified  in 
attempting  to  soar  aloft  as  a  star  of  the  world  of 
fashion;  feeling  conscious,  as  she  must  have  done,  that 
she  had,  over  and  above  her  wealth,  the  qualities  that 
would  lead  to  success. 

But  d'Argenson,  in  quest  of  conversation,  found  it 
at  last  in  the  salon  of  Madame  Geoffrin,  and  discovered 


320  THE    OLD  REGIME. 

in  Madame  herself  one  of  the  "  good  talkers"  whose 
diminished  number  he  lamented.  Though  it  was  well 
known  that  she  was  far  from  being  learned,  all  who 
heard  her  relate  any  incident  or  adventure  knew  also 
"that  she  had  exquisite  taste  in  narration."  She  pos- 
sessed, too,  in  an  eminent  degree  the  talent,  or  art, 
of  so  animating  and  directing  a  conversation  that  all 
her  guests  should  participate  in  it;  and  generally  even 
the  philosophers  preferred  the  ease  and  gayety  of  her 
sai,on  to  the  restraint  of  affected  learning  in  that  of 
Madame  de  Tencin. 

The  circle  of  the  Marquise  du  Chatelet  had  been  a 
very  limited  one.  She  was,  indeed,  scarcely  missed  in 
society,  and  certainly  was  not  regretted,  even  by  her 
amant-en-titre  —  Voltaire.  He  never  mentioned  his 
"  sublime  and  respectable  Emilie"  after  her  death. 
And  he  did  well.  She  was  a  pretentious  blue-stocking, 
a  repulsive  woman,  and  as  little  deserving  to  be  com- 
plimented on  her  "  respectability"  as  any  of  the  great 
ladies  of  that  disreputable  age.  Her  learned  coterie 
contrived  to  discuss  their  mathematical  problems  no 
less  satisfactorily  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore  than  in  the 
He  St.  Louis,  as  may  well  be  inferred;  for  there 
awaited  them  there  what  the  marquise  usually  forgot 
to  provide  for  her  savants — twice  a  week  a  good  din- 
ner; while  every  evening  the  guests  of  the  salon 
'^  supped  there  luxuriously  at  will." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Madame  de  GraflSgny.— The  Duchesse  de  Richelieu.— A  Death- 
bed Scene. — An  Aflfeciionate  Husband. — A  Visit  to  the  Cha 
tcau  de  Cirey. — Knick-knacks  and  Objets  d'Art. — "  Lettres 
d'une  Peruvienne." — "Lettres  d'Aza." — M.  de  La  Marche- 
Courraont. — A  Sensitive  Authoress. — D'Holbach  and  Helvc- 
tius. — Mdlle.  de  Ligneville. — A  Philosopher  in  Love. — The 
Physician  Helvetius. — A  Rival  of  Voltaire. — The  Epicurean 
Principle. — A  Grateful  Annuitant. — Wonderful  Moderation. 
— The  Sweepings  of  a  Salon. 

When,  in  1734,  the  Due  de  Richelieu  married  his 
second  wife,  Mdlle.  de  Guise,  she  was  accompanied  on 
her  journey  from  Lorraine  to  Paris  by  Madame  de 
Graffigny,  the  widow  of  Count  Huguet  de  Graffigny, 
formerly  chamberlain  to  the  Due  de  Lorraine,  the 
father  of  Richelieu's  young  bride.  The  count  was  a 
man  of  the  most  violent  character.  In  his  paroxysms 
of  rage,  he  often  ill-treated  the  countess,  even  threat- 
ened to  take  her  life.  After  a  few  years  of  marriage, 
her  health  had  become  so  much  affected  by  her  hus- 
band's brutality  that  she  applied  for,  and  obtained,  a 
judicial  separation.  Shortly  after  she  was  wholly  re- 
leased from  her  marriage-yoke  of  misery  by  the  death 
of  the  count  in  the  fortress  of  Nancy — the  fatal  result 
of  a  quarrel  with  an  officer  of  the  Gardes  du  Corps 
having  led  to  his  imprisonment  there.* 

*  Callot,  the  famous  eng^raver,  was  the  great-uncle  of  Madame 
de  GraflSgny.     Louis  XIH.  invited  him  to  France,  to  engrave  for 


322  THE   OLD  R£GIM£. 

The  gentle  and  amiable  Madame  de  Graffigny, 
grieved  for  the  sad  fate  of  her  unworthy  husband, 
and  having,  at  about  the  time  of  his  death,  also  lost 
her  two  children,  was  falling  into  a  state  of  despon- 
dency. It  was  then  that  Mdlle.  de  Guise,  with  the 
approval  of  her  friends,  proposed*  to  Madame  de  Graf- 
figny to  make  the  journey  to  Paris  with  her;  and, 
after  a  little  hesitation,  she  was  prevailed  on  to  accede 
to  the  princess's  request.  It  was  thus  this  distin- 
guished woman,  scarcely  aware  of  her  own  mental 
gifts — for  her  life  had  hitherto  been  but  a  tissue  of 
sorrows  and  troubles — was  drawn  from  the  seclusion 
of  her  home  in  Lorraine  to  become,  some  few  years 
later,  a  star  in  the  literary  society  of  Paris. 

She  was,  on  her  first  arrival,  extremely  well  received 
in  the  salons  of  the  beau  monde,  whither  she  accom- 
panied the  duchess;  for  the  duke  could  not,  of  course, 
so  greatly  sin  against  the  laws  of  society  as  to  appear 
there  himself  with  his  young  wife.  But  he  was  not  at 
all  averse  to  the  discreet  Madame  de  Graffigny,  to 
whom  the  duchess  was  greatly  attached,  playing  the 
part  of  chaperon,  and  keeping  aloof  all  pretenders  to 
the  post  of  a7ni  intime.  This  institution  of  polite 
French  society  he  had  an  insuperable  objection  to, 
now  that  it  threatened  to  interfere  with  his  own  do- 


him  the  picture  of  the  Siege  of  Rochelle,  and  of  the  He  de  Rh6. 
When  requested  to  engrave  also  that  of  Nancy,  the  capital  of  the 
Duchy  of  Lorraine,  of  which  the  king  had  taken  possession, 
Callot  refused.  "I  would  rather,"  he  said,  "cut  off  my  thumb, 
that  I  might  never  again  take  up  the  graver,  than  assist  in  perpet- 
uating the  memory  of  the  misfortunes  of  my  country,  and  of  its 
prince,  my  sovereign."  Louis  XIIL  was  pleased  with  Callot's  re- 
ply, and  esteemed  him  for  his  noble  sentiments.  Louis  had  his 
propitious  moments,  though  they  occurred  only  at  long  intervals. 


A  DEATH-BED  SCENE. 


323 


mestic  relations.  But  of  all  men  in  the  world,  who 
with  so  little  grace  as  the  Due  de  Richelieu  could  raise 
his  voice  against  it,  or  appear  to  oppose  it  ? 

It  was  a  maxim  of  the  age  to  disbelieve  in  the  fidelity 
of  women;  and  though  Richelieu  had  contemned  both 
the  fidelity  and  affection  of  Mdlle.  de  Noailles,  his  first 
unfortunate  wife,  he  is  said  to  have  made  some  show 
of  being  really  interested,  for  the  space  of  two  or 
three  months,  in  the  Princess  de  Guise.  His  anxiety, 
however,  on  the  vexed  subje  :t  of  an  ami  intime  was 
soon  set  at  rest.  Undeserving  as  he  was  of  any 
woman's  affection,  his  second  wife  was  as  much  de- 
voted to  him  as  the  first,  and,  rejecting  as  falsehood 
all  the  scandal  afloat  respecting  him,  believed  herself 
also  beloved.  He  smiled,  therefore,  on  the  weakness 
of  his  wife,  as  he  smiled  on  that  of  other  weak  women; 
complacently  tolerated  her  affection,  but  continued 
the  same  libertine  course  of  life  as  before. 

The  duchess  died  at  an  early  age,  in  1740.  "She 
had,"  says  a  contemporary  writer,  "a  calm  and  pure 
soul;  beautiful  eyes;  a  sweet  expression;  the  manner 
of  a  queen,  and  the  character  of  an  angel."  When 
Richelieu,  hat  in  hand,  politely  came  to  take  leave  of 
her  on  her  death-bed,  she  murmured,  with  almost  her 
last  breath,  "  How  sweet  it  would  be  to  die  in  your 
arms!"  What  could  he  do,  when  he  heard  those 
dying  words,  and  his  eyes  met  the  wistful  gaze  of 
hers  ?  what — though  he  hated  a  scene — but  lay  aside 
his  hat,  approach  the  bed,  and  put  his  arm  round  this 
passionately  fond  wife  !  An  expression  of  intense  love 
and  happiness  momentarily  lighted  up  her  face.  She 
strove  to  turn  towards  him,  and  in  that  dying  effort 
breathed  her  last.  Those  who  stood  around — amongst 
them  was  Madame  de  Graffigny — were  deeply  affected. 


324  ^^^  oi-D  rAgime. 

Not  so  De  Richelieu  No  starting  tear  dimmed  his 
eye.  But  he  did  not  play  the  hypocrite;  feeling  no 
emotion,  he  feigned  none.  Gently  he  withdrew  his 
arm,  took  up  his  hat,  and  silently  departed — probably 
to  keep  some  assignation. 

After  the  death  of  the  Duchesse  de  Richelieu,  Ma- 
dame de  Graffigny,  on  whom  the  Emperor  Francis  I. 
of  Lorraine  had  conferred  a  pension  of  considerable 
amount,  fixed  her  residence  in  Paris,  where  in  her 
modest  salon  the  elite  of  the  learned  and  brilliant 
society  of  the  capital  were  accustomed  twice  a  week 
to  assemble.  A  year  or  two  before,  while  on  a  visit 
to  Nancy,  she  was  urged  by  Voltaire  and  the  Mar- 
quise du  Chatelet  to  spend  a  week  with  them  at  Cirey. 
She  wrote  an  account  of  her  sojourn  in  that  abode  of 
philosophy,  learning,  and  love;  and  of  the  retreat 
which  the  sublime  Emilie  and  her  ami  inti?ne  con- 
structsd  for  themselves,  and  adorned  as  pleased  their 
own  fancy. 

Voltaire  appears  to  have  done  the  honors,  and  to 
have  conducted  Madame  de  Graffigny  through  his 
own  and  the  Marquise's  apartments.  They  occupied 
the  new  wing  she  had  added  to  the  old  chateau,  and 
to  which  entrance  was  obtained  by  the  principal  por- 
tico and  grand  staircase  of  the  latter.  The  furniture 
and  hangings  of  Voltaire's  rooms  were  of  rich  crimson 
velvet.  One  of  them,  large  but  not  lofty,  was  pan- 
elled with  tapestry  and  mirrors,  the  ceiling  being 
formed  of  framed  pictures.  Adjoining  was  a  gallery, 
near  forty  feet  in  length,  the  windows  of  which  looked 
on  the  newly  planned  gardens,  with  their  grottoes  and 
fountains.  It  was  fitted  up  like  a  studio — cases  of 
books,  mathematical  instruments,  writing-tables  and 
chairs,  and  all  the  necessary  appurtenances  for  writ- 


KNtCKKNACKS  AND  OBJETS  D'ART.        32$ 

ing  and  study.  The  walls  were  of  light  yellow  wain- 
scot, varnished.  A  stove  was  let  into  the  wall,  and 
concealed  by  a  pedestal,  on  which  was  a  statue  of  Cu- 
pid, with  another  of  Venus  on  one  side,  and  the  Far- 
nesian  Hercules  on  the  other — symbolizing,  probably, 
the"Emilie,  you  are  beautiful"  of  Voltaire,  and  "he 
was  a  marvel  of  strength"  of  Madame  de  Crequy. 

The  apartments  of  the  marquise  were  hung  with 
rich  watered  blue  silk,  bordered  with  gold  fringe. 
The  walls,  everywhere  wainscot,  painted  yellow,  with 
light  blue  strij>es,  and  varnished.  Even  her  favorite 
pug  dog's  house  was  cushioned,  curtained,  painted 
and  varnished,  light  yellow  and  blue.  Bathing-rooms 
the  same.  Voltaire  seemed  especially  to  admire  the 
wonderfully  numerous  collection  of  '*  knick-knackery** 
his  Emilie  had  amassed,  and  drew  his  visitor's  atten- 
tion to  it.  Every  available  corner  and  recess  was 
filled  with  the  then  so  much  prized  Chinese  porcelain 
— Chinese  monsters,  vases,  etc.  The  marquise  had 
several  cases  of  finely  engraved  gems  and  precious 
stones;  some  Paul  Veroneses  and  other  good  pictures; 
beautiful  wood-carvings  and  statuary.  The  library 
was  extensive.  But  geometry,  astronomy,  and  mathe- 
matics generally,  being  the  beautiful  Emilie's  favorite 
studies,  books  on  those  subjects  predominated. 

With  her  admiration  of  a  quantity  of  rich  furniture, 
and  a  rather  pell-mell  arrangement  of  a  large  and 
varied  collection  of  objets  (Tart,  Madame  de  Graffigny 
ends  her  praises  of  that  home  of  poetry  and  science, 
the  Chateau  de  Cirey;  every  part  of  which,  except  the 
new  suite  of  rooms,  she  found  dirty  and  uncomfort- 
able in  the  extreme.  But  in  all  the  palaces  and  hotels 
of  the  nobles  at  that  period,  the  splendor  of  the  re- 
ception-rooms was    more    than   counterbalanced   by 


326  ^^^  OLD  RMitME. 

the  dirt  and  discomfort  of  the  private  apartments. 
What  miserable  holes  were  the  courtiers  on  service  at 
Versailles  content,  or  compelled  to  be  content,  to 
sleep  in  and  inhabit! 

Madame  de  Graffigny's  first  published  work  was  a 
tale,  entitled  "  Le  Mauvais  Exemple  produit  autant 
de  Vertus  que  de  Vices,"  "  Nouvelle  Espagnole."  It 
was  written  at  the  request  of  a  literary  coterie  she 
had  joined,  each  member  of  which  undertook  to  write 
a  short  tale  or  romance.  They  were  published  col- 
lectively in  1754,  the  longest  being  Madame  de  Graf- 
figny's. It  was  considered  satirical;  the  title  being 
a  maxim  only  vaguely  developed,  it  was  said,  but 
seemingly  pointed  at  one  or  two  persons,  who  felt 
themselves  rather  offended  by  it. 

Withdrawing  from  this  testy  coterie,  she  wrote  and 
published  her  "  Lettres  d'une  Peruvienne."  The  suc- 
cess of  this  work  was  immense  It  went  through  many 
editions,  and  at  once  established  Madame  de  Graf- 
figny's fame  as  the  most  elegant  and  eloquent  prose 
writer  of  the  female  authors  of  France.  It  was  soon 
after  translated  into  several  languages,  and  the  Italians 
so  greatly  admired  it  that  Madame  de  Graffigny  was 
elected  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Florence.  Mon- 
tesquieu's "  Lettres  Persanes"  was  the  first  example 
of  this  kind  of  satirical  writing,  and  had  numerous 
imitators.  But  the  celebrated  "  Lettres  d'une  Peru- 
vienne" is  a  work  in  a  far  more  pure  and  harmonious 
style.  A  delicate  vein  of  irony  runs  through  it.  The 
thoughts  are  original,  clearly  and  gracefully  expressed, 
and  the  character  of  the  French  and  the  manners  of 
the  period  well  defined.  It  is,  indeed,  a  very  charm- 
ing romance,  slightly  sentimental,  of  course.  As  a 
story,  only,  it  is  interesting,  and  not  too  long. 


M.  DE  LA  MARCHE-COUkMONT.  ^2f 

With  the  "  Lettres  d'une  P^ruvienne"  there  is  some- 
times bound  up  another  and  shorter  work,  entitled 
"  Lettres  d'Aza  ou  d'un  Peruvien,  pour  servir  de  suite 
'X  celles  d'une  P6ruvienne."  It  was  written,  after 
Madame  de  Grafhgny's  death,  by  M.  de  La  Marche- 
Courmont.  He  seems  not  to  have  been  satisfied  with 
the  conclusion  of  the  story,  which  leaves  the  reader  to 
imagine  the  fair  Zilia  forgetting,  probably,  in  time, 
her  faithless  lover,  Aza,  and  rewarding  with  her  hand 
and  heart  the  devoted  Captain  Deterville,  notwith- 
standing her  vow  to  be  eternally  constant  to  the  former. 

M.  de  Courmont  makes  Aza  repent  and  Zilia  for- 
give. He  reunites  the  lovers,  and  sends  them  back  to 
Peru  in  a  French  man-of-war,  ordered  by  the  king  for 
their  conveyance.  There  is  no  charm  of  style  in  these 
letters.  That  of  Madame  de  Graffigny  is  imitated; 
but  Aza  has  not  the  fluent  pen,  the  graceful  diction, 
and  playful  irony  of  Zilia.  One  feels  a  sort  of  resent- 
ment towards  this  M.  de  La  Marche-Courmont — who 
was  chamberlain  to  the  Margrave  of  Barelth — for  his 
presumption  in  detracting  from  the  charm  of  a  pretty 
romance,  by  attempting  to  decide  what  the  author  had 
chosen  to  leave  doubtful. 

The  success  of  the  '*  Lettres  Peruviennes"  was 
shortly  followed  by  that  of  a  five-act  play,  entitled 
"  Cenie."  It  is  in  prose,  and  after  its  first  run  of  sev- 
eral nights  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  retained  favor 
for  a  number  of  years  as  one  of  the  stock  pieces  of 
that  establishment.  "  Ziman  et  Zenise"  and  '*  Phaza," 
one-act  dramas,  were  written  for  and  performed  by 
the  juvenile  members  of  the  court  of  Vienna.  Unfor- 
tunately, Madame  de  Graffigny  was  so  extremely  sensi- 
tive that  an  unkind  criticism  or  epigram — and  the  age 
was  prolific  of  both — wounded  her  deeply      Her  play, 


32^  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

"La  Fille  d'Aristide,"  which  was  not  so  successful  as 
"  Cenie,"  gave  rise  to  one  or  two  of  those  silly  jests 
that  so  often  did  duty  for  bon-mots.  The  amour propre 
of  the  authoress  suffered  so  much  that  she  became 
seriously  ill,  and  was  compelled  to  lay  aside  her  pen 
— then  employed  on  another  work — and  it  does  not 
appear  that  she  ever  resumed  it,  except  for  the  benefit 
of  private  friends. 

It  is  surprising  to  meet  with  so  extreme  an  instance 
of  sensitiveness  in  one — herself  a  critic — who  so  thor- 
oughly comprehended  the  vivacity  and  levity  of  the 
French  character,*  and  knew  that  the  age,  with  all 
its  boasted  learning  and  philosophy,  was  but  the 
"  golden  age  of  commonplace  writers" — as  Villemain 
describes  it — and  that  though  satire,  as  a  contem- 
porary authority  (D'Argenson)  remarks,  marchait  tou- 
jour s^  il  marchait  h  vide. 

Philosophers  of  the  most  advanced  opinions  met  in 
Madame  de  Graffigny's  salon.  Such  men,  for  instance, 
as  the  Baron  d'Holbach  and  the  younger  Helvetius. 
Both  wealthy,  of  epicurean  tastes  (the  former  es- 
pecially professing  atheistical  opinions),  and  whose 
works,  "  Le  Systeme  de  Nature"  and  "  De  I'Esprit," 
produced  some  few  years  later  on,  were  denounced  as 
diabolical  productions,  and  burnt  by  the  public  execu- 
tioner. Yet  both  these  so-called  philosophers  were 
amiable,  kind-hearted,  and  benevolent  men.  If  they 
spent  much  in  luxurious  living,  they  expended  almost 
as  much  in  kind  and  generous  acts  towards  the  needy. 
None  sought  a  service  from  d'Holbach,  or  claimed  aid 

*  Zilia,  in  the  "  Lettres  P6ruviennes,"  characterizes  the  French 
as  composed  only  of  fire  and  air — having  escaped  unfinished  from 
the  hands  of  the  Creator,  she  imagines,  while  the  more  solid  in- 
gredients for  the  organization  of  the  human  mind  were  preparing. 


MDLLE.   DE  LICNEVILLE,  329 

from  him,  in  vain.  If,  in  his  dinners  and  suppers,  he 
strove  to  vie  in  costliness  and  elaboration  with  the 
banquets  of  LucuUus,  none  the  less  did  he  vie  with 
that  noble  Roman  in  the  humane  and  compassionate 
feeling  he  exhibited.  It  is  not  recorded  that  he  took 
him  for  his  model,  though  possibly  he  may  have 
done  so. 

There  resided  at  this  time  with  Madame  de  Graf- 
figny  a  very  attractive  young  lady,  Mdlle.  de  Ligne- 
ville,  who,  with  a  fair  share  of  beauty,  possessed  also 
the  advantages  of  a  cultivated  mind,  an  amiable  tem- 
per, and  much  liveliness  and  wit.  She  was  Madame 
de  Graffigny's  niece,  and  what  in  modern  phrase  is 
termed  "highly  connected;"  numerously  also,  being 
one  of  a  family  of  twenty-two  children.  Many 
adorers  would  willingly  have  sought  her  in  marriage* 
but  when  her  legion  of  brothers  and  sisters  was  men- 
tioned, also  the  hopelessness  of  any  expectation  of  a 
dowry,  candidates  for  the  honor  of  her  hand  shrank 
back,  and  Mdlle.  de  Ligneville  seemed  likely  to  re- 
main Mademoiselle  to  the  end  of  her  days.  It,  how- 
ever, began  to  be  remarked  that  M.  d'Helvetius,  no 
longer  satisfied  with  unfailingly  visiting  Madame  de 
Grafiigny  on  her  usual  days  of  reception,  was  falling 
into  the  habit  of  looking  in  on  other  occasions,  to 
make  polite  inquiries  concerning  her  health. 

Frenchwomen  do  not  like  these  unexpected  calls — 
it  upsets  all  their  plans.  Be  they  whom  they  may, 
they  prefer  to  know  when  to  expect  their  friends; 
and  to  a  literary  woman  like  Madame  de  Graffigny 
the  intrusion  was  especially  annoying.  But  Helvetius 
was  perfectly  content  to  pass  an  hour  or  two  tete-a-tett 
with  Mdlle.  de  Ligneville  in  the  salon^  insisting  that 
Madame,  her  aunt,  should  not  on  his  account  be  re- 


33(5  THE  OLD  MgIME. 

quired  to  leave  her  study.  Soon  it  appeared  that  this 
dangerous  young  philosopher  (Helvetius  had  fasci- 
nating manners,  and  was  remarkably  handsome)  came 
not  to  philosophize,  but  to  seek  healing  balm  for  a 
wounded  heart. 

The  philosopher  was  in  love;  and  being  utterly  in- 
different to  the  number  of  brothers  and  sisters  the  fair 
Mdlle.  de  Ligneville  might  bring  him,  as  well  as 
equally  indifferent  to  her  want  of  a  dowry,  he,  at  one 
morning  tete-a-tete,  asked  her  to  be  his  wife.  She  did 
not  refuse,  and  her  family,  of  course,  rejoiced  greatly; 
while  many  an  anxious  mother,  with  daughters  wait- 
ing for  a  husband  to  unbar  the  convent  gates,  turned 
pallid  with  envy — happily  concealed  by  the  fashion- 
able thick  coating  of  rouge — when  they  heard  at  what 
shrine  the  wealthy  and  fastidious  Helvetius  had  been 
worshipping. 

Hitherto  so  singularly  prosperous  in  his  worldly 
career,  he  was  no  less  fortunate  in  his  choice  of  a 
wife.  Voltaire,  with  whom  philosophers  were  all 
"  great  men,"  or  addressed  by  him  as  such,  wrote  to 
the  great  man  Helvetius  some  poetic  lines  of  con- 
gratulation, and  begged  to  be  laid  at  the  lady's  feet; 
where  he  would  certainly  have  fallen  had  he  been 
present. 

To  the  philosophical  reunions  and  splendid  ban- 
quets, at  which  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the 
time  assembled,  was  now  added  the  attractive  salon  of 
the  charming  Madame  Helvetius.  There,  during  the 
four  months  she  and  her  husband  were  accustomed  to 
spend  every  year  at  their  magnificent  hotel  in  Paris, 
women  of  high  birth  and  beauty,  of  literary  and 
artistic  tastes,  or  remarkable  in  the  social  circle  for 
their  brilliancy,  loved  to  congregate. 


THE  PHYSICIAN  HELVETWS.  331 

It  is  singular  that  one  who  professed,  and  so  fully- 
carried  out,  the  epicurean  doctrine  that  the  happiness 
of  mankind  consists  in  pleasure  should  have  owed  to 
the  favor  of  the  pious,  self-denying  Marie  Leczinska 
the  opportunity  of  accumulating  the  immense  wealth 
which  enabled  him  to  scatter  his  benefactions  with  so 
unsparing  a  hand,  and  to  enjoy  life  so  luxuriously. 
He  was  the  son  of  the  physician  Helvetius,  who  rec- 
ommended bleeding  in  the  foot  as  a  probable  means 
of  saving  the  life  of  Louis  XV.  when,  during  an  ill- 
ness which  attacked  him  at  the  age  of  nine  years,  his 
death  was  hourly  expected.  Other  physicians  in 
attendance  were  strongly  opposed  to  it;  but  Helve- 
tius persisted  in  his  opinion  that  it  would  have  a 
favorable  result,  and  explained  his  reasons  for  doing 
so.  This  converted  two  of  his  medical  confreres,  and 
his  advice  was  followed.  The  king  experienced  relief 
from  the  operation,  as  Helvetius  had  foreseen,  and 
speedily  recovered. 

The  service  rendered  the  king  does  not  appear  to 
have  had  other  reward  than  the  grant  of  an  apart- 
ment at  Versailles — that  he  might  be  near  at  hand  to 
watch  over  the  royal  patient's  health.  His  circum- 
stances continued  as  before,  very  far  from  affluent. 
He  was  a  kindly- natured  man,  and  gave  much  time 
to  visiting  the  poor  in  their  sickness,  and  those  fre- 
quently recurring  calamities — pestilence  and  famine 
— which  so  thinned  the  population  of  France.  When, 
six  or  seven  years  after,  the  king  married  Marie 
Leczinska,  and  her  household  was  formed,  Helvetius 
was  appointed  physician  to  the  queen.  Hearing  of 
his  former  services  to  the  king,  she  procured  him  a 
pension  of  10 poo  francs. 

The  younger  Helvetius,  as  he  grew  up,  rejecting  his 


33^  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

father's  profession,  was  desirous  of  emulating  Vol- 
taire, He  began  very  early  to  write  poetry,  or  rather 
short  pieces  that  passed  current  as  such,  in  that 
rhyming  age.  Subsequently  he  brought  out  a  tra- 
gedy, *'  Le  Comte  de  Fiesque;"  then  took  to  the 
study  of  Locke,  whose  ardent  disciple  he  professed 
himself.  So  highly  did  he  appreciate  his  own  pro- 
ductions that  he  expected  their  merit  would  insure  his 
reception  as  a  member  of  the  Academy  of  Caen — 
having  been  educated  in  the  college  of  that  city. 
Being  but  a  mere  youth,  his  pretensions  were  laughed 
at;  but  a  year  or  two  later  influence  was  made  for 
him,  and,  though  still  under  the  required  age,  the  ob- 
ject of  his  ambition  was  attained. 

On  returning  to  Paris,  Fontenelle  became  his  idol. 
Madame  de  Tencin  then  bestowed  her  patronage  on 
him,  and  in  her  salon  he  made  the  acquaintance  and 
secured  the  friendship  of  Montesquieu  and  Voltaire, 
as  well  as  the  good  graces  of  Madame  du  Deffant  and 
other  philosophical  ladies.  There  was  an  elevation  in 
his  sentiments,  a  refinement  in  his  manners,  that 
pleased  these  leaders  of  society,  and  gained  him  favor 
also  with  his  father's  friends,  who  were  of  the  court 
circle  of  the  queen.  He  already  acted  on  his  epicu- 
rean principle,  in  the  pleasant  fashion  of  making  him- 
self agreeable  to  others  in  order  to  secure  happiness 
for  himself.  And  the  principle  was  successful  in  its 
results.  The  queen  became  interested  in  the  fascina- 
ting son  of  her  worthy  physician,  and  obtained  for 
him  the  place  of  farmer-general,  which  gave  him  at 
once,  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  an  income  of  100,000 
^cus  and  the  opportunity  of  accumulating  millions. 

But  Helvetius  did  not  follow  the  exacting,  grind- 
ing system  of  most  of  the  farmers-general.     Often  he 


A   GRATEFUL   ANNUITANT,  333 

is  said  to  have  defended  the  cause  of  the  oppressed 
people  against  the  exactions  of  the  Compagnie  des 
Fermes.  His  office  necessitating  frequent  journeys 
to  the  provinces,  he  was  always  accompanied  by  some 
needy  friends,  to  whom  it  might  be  agreeable  as  a 
pleasurable  excursion — as  he  travelled  en  grand  seig- 
neur^ and  fared  sumptuously  every  day.  He  was 
fond,  too,  of  giving  pensions  to  those  who  would  do 
him  the  pleasure  of  accepting  them.  Marivaux,  the 
dramatist,  received  one  of  2000  francs.  In  return,  he 
often  behaved  with  the  utmost  incivility  towards  his 
benefactor — his  generally  unrestrained  ill-temper  and 
discontent  arising  from  his  setting  a  higher  value  on 
his  plays  than  the  fashionable  world,  whose  favor  he 
anxiously  sought,  seemed  inclined  to  award  them. 
His  excessive  rudeness  to  Helvetius  being,  on  one 
occasion,  particularly  remarked,  the  latter  replied, 
"Oh!  I  overlook  that,  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure  he 
gives  me  by  accepting  a  small  annuity." 

Helvetius  had  held  his  place  thirteen  years,  when 
it  occurred  to  him  that  marriage  would  contribute  to 
his  happiness.  He  was  aiso  delighted  to  find  that  he 
would  have  the  further  pleasure  of  making  the  young 
lady  very  happy  on  whom  his  choice  had  fallen,  quite 
independently  of  his  riches,  though,  to  use  Dr.  John- 
son's expression,  he  was  "  rich  beyond  the  dreams  of 
avarice."  Strange  to  say,  he  thought  himself  rich 
enough,  and  before  he  married  resigned  his  '"'' charge.'* 
His  wonderful  moderation  astonished  M.  Machault, 
Controleur  des  Finances.  "So  you  are  not  insati- 
able ?"  he  said.  Most  of  the  farmers -general  were 
insatiable,  and  Helvetius's  resignation  of  so  extremely 
lucrative  a  post  was  probably  a  solitary  instance  of 
the  kind. 


334  ^-^^   OLD  REGIME. 

It  must  be  left  to  the  imagination  to  picture  to  it- 
self all  the  splendors  of  the  wedding  of  Mdlle.  de 
Ligneville  and  the  wealthy  epicurean  philosopher. 
After  receiving  the  felicitations  of  his  friends  and 
entertaining  them  in  princely  style,  he  and  his  bride 
left  Paris  for  his  favorite  estate  and  chateau  of  Vore, 
in  La  Perche.  There  he  hunted  the  wild  boar  and 
followed  the  roe,  for  he  was  fond  of  the  chase,  and 
made  everybody  happy  around  him.  Or  he  passed 
his  mornings,  as  we  are  told,  in  meditating  and  writ- 
ing; preparing,  in  fact,  the  work  that,  inspired  by 
Montesquieu's  "  Esprit  des  Lois" — of  which  Helvetius 
desired  to  express  his  opinion — was  afterwards  to 
cause  so  great  a  sensation  in  literary  society,  and  to 
give  such  a  shock  to  his  royal  patroness.  That  work 
Madame  de  Graffigny  pronounced  "  made  up  of  the 
sweepings  of  her  salon^  and  a  dozen  or  two  of  her 
people's  bons-mots,"  but  the  philosophical  world  at- 
tributed it,  in  great  part,  to  the  caustic  and  atheistic 
pen  of  Diderot. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

L'Hosplce  Pompadour. — A  Royal  Visit  to  the  Hospice. — Charles 
Parrocel. — The  Flemish  Campaigns. — Abel  Franjois  Poisson. 
— The  Marquis  d'Avant-Hier. — The  Little  Brother. — Le 
Comte  de  Maurepas. — The  French  Navy. — The  King  be- 
comes Sallow. — Le  Comte  d'Argcnson. — Madame  de  Pom- 
padour, as  Minister. — Brother  and  Sister. — Le  Docteur 
Quesnay. — A  Remedy  for  Low  Spirits. — Lessons  in  Political 
Economy. 

To  celebrate  the  military  prowess  of  Louis  XV., 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  after  the  battle  of  Fontenoy, 
founded  at  Cr^cy  an  hospital — or,  rather,  an  alms- 
house, with  infirmary  attached  to  it — for  the  reception 
of  sixty  poor  aged  invalid  men  and  women,  whose 
needs  were  attended  to  by  twelve  of  the  Sisters  of 
Mercy  of  St.  Vincent  de  Paul.  The  chateau  and  do- 
main of  Cr^cy,  near  Abbeville,  were  a  recent  present 
from  the  king;  but  to  obtain  the  necessary  funds  for 
the  establishment  of  her  hospital,  the  marquise  had 
privately  sold  a  part  of  her  diamonds  to  Rambaud,  the 
court  jeweller,  for  near  900,000  francs. 

When  all  its  arrangements  were  complete,  the  hos- 
pital was  intended  to  come  as  a  surprise  on  the  king; 
and  it  was  expected  that  it  would  be  interesting 
enough  to  dispel  his  ennui  for  awhile.  Already,  how- 
ever, he  noticed  the  unusually  long  and  frequent 
absence  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  from  Versailles; 
and  the  oppressiveness  of  ennui  would  probably  have 
soon  yielded  to  a  twinge  or  two  of  jealousy.  But  it 
chanced  that  the  Comte  de  Vauguyon,  who,  it  should 


336  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

be  remarked,  was  one  of  the  queen's  intimate  circle, 
had  been  paying  a  friendly  visit  to  the  fair  Chatelaine 
of  Crecy. 

On  returning  to  Versailles,  court  etiquette  required 
that  he  should  make  his  bow  to  the  king.  Always 
more  anxious  to  peer  into  the  private  concerns  of  his 
courtiers,  than  to  give  any  attention  to  business  of 
State,  Louis'  persistent  questioning — for  he  saw  there 
was  a  secret  of  some  sort — led  to  the  "  Hospice  Pom- 
padour" being  made  known  to  him  rather  earlier 
than  its  foundress  had  proposed.  Yet  it  may  have 
been  a  mere  ruse^  to  which  the  pious  M.  de  La  Vau- 
guyon  had  seen  fit  to  lend  his  countenance. 

Whether  or  not,  this  charming  piece  of  intelligence 
served  its  purpose,  as  a  new  sensation  for  the  king. 
For,  some  two  or  three  days  after,  as  the  marquise, 
among  her  workpeople,  was  giving  her  final  direc- 
tions, and,  like  an  able  woman  of  business,  examining 
with  her  builder  the  construction  of  the  dormitories, 
and  seeing  everything  put  into  the  very  best  order, 
the  cracking  of  postilions'  whips  was  heard.  Soon 
there  followed  the  sound  of  a  bugle;  then  the  roll  of 
heavy  carriages;  the  trampling  of  horses,  coming 
nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  royal  retinue  stopped 
before  the  Hospice  Pompadour,  and  Louis  XV. 
alighted. 

He  was  in  hunting  dress,  for  there  was  good  sport 
to  be  had  in  the  wide  domain  of  Crecy;  and  the  king 
proposed  sojourning  there  for  two  or  three  days,  as 
the  guest  of  the  beautiful  chdtelaine.  Besides  his  usual 
travelling  attendants,  he  was  accompanied  by  M. 
Philibert     d'Orry,     Comptroller   of     the    Treasury;* 

*  M.  d'Orry,  who  had  held  his  office  fourteen  years,  was  imme- 
diately afterwards  superseded  — M.  Machault,   an  able  minister, 


CHARLES  PARROCEL. 


337 


rAbb6  de  Bernis,  the  prot^g^  of  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour; and  M.  de  Berryer,  Lieutenant  of  Police. 

Never,  perhaps,  did  the  king  more  truly  express 
satisfaction  with  any  of  Madame  de  Pompadour's 
numerous  acts  of  kindness  and  benevolence,  than 
with  this  asylum  for  the  aged  and  afflicted  poor.  She 
had  proposed  to  dedicate  it  to  him,  designated  as 
"L'Hospice  Louis  XV.;"  and  not  the  least  of  its 
merits,  in  his  eyes,  was  that  his  private  purse  had 
contributed  nothing  towards  it.  M.  de  La  Vauguyon 
had  announced  it  as  L'Hospice  Pompadour,  and  that 
name,  by  Louis'  particular  desire,  it  retained. 

Having  completed  her  thank-offering  for  the  victory 
of  Fontenoy,  the  indefatigable  marquise,  as  a  lover 
and  a  patroness  of  the  arts,  determined  to  celebrate 
the  valor  of  the  king  in  a  series  of  battle-pieces.  He 
had  been  present,  in  the  next  campaign,  at  the  victory 
of  Laufeld,  where,  as  before,  the  Mar6chal  de  Saxe 
had  commanded  in  chief.  Signal  successes  at  Bergen- 
op-Zoom  had  followed,  and  the  siege  of  Maestricht 
had  opened  the  way  for  peace.  Charles  Parrocel 
was  therefore  summoned  to  attend  the  marquise.  He 
was  the  son  of  the  famous  Joseph  Parrocel,  who 
painted  the  battle-pieces,  representing  the  so-called 
conquests  of  the  Grand  Monarque,  Charles  had 
studied  his  art  under  his  father,  and  painted  well, 
in  the  same  style;  but  with  the  disadvantage  of  never 
having  been  asked  to  perpetuate  on  canvas  the  deeds 
of  arms  of  any  royal  hero. 

Within  only  two  or  three  years  of  his  death,  for- 
tune favored   him  with  the  opportunity  of  transmit- 


but  a  friend  of  the  favorite,  and    more  complaisant,  taking  his 
place. 


338  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

ting  his  name  to  posterity,  as  the  worthy  pupil  of  the 
elder  Parrocel.  For  it  was  then  he  was  commissioned 
by  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  compose  a  series  of 
scenes  from  the  Flemish  campaigns,  in  which,  as  a 
victor,  the  figure  of  the  king  should  be  prominent. 
She  was  probably  influenced  in  her  choice  of  a 
painter  by  her  brother,  though  her  own  drawings  and 
engravings  evince  the  possession  both  of  skill  and 
judgment.  He,  however,  was  but  lately  returned 
from  Italy,  where,  accompanied  by  Custrin,  the  en- 
graver, and  Le  Blanc,  the  antiquary,  he  had  been 
travelling  with  that  able  architect,  Soufflot,  for  the 
completion  of  his  artistic  studies. 

Abel  Frangois  Poisson  was  a  young  man  of  re- 
markable abilities.  He  was  four  or  five  years  younger 
than  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  extremely  modest 
and  retiring.  Of  principles  of  rectitude  rare  in  those 
days,  he  was  painfully  sensitive  to  the  dishonor  at- 
taching to  what  most  persons  thought  the  brilliant 
position  of  his  sister.  On  the  other  hand,  her  favor 
with  the  king  had  procured  his  nomination  to  a  post 
of  influence,  which,  as  he  knew,  would  equally  have 
been  conferred  on  him  had  he  possessed  none  of 
those  qualifications  that  so  eminently  fitted  him  for 
it;  or  the  tastes  which  made  its  duties  so  congenial  to 
him.  It  was  a  post  that  brought  him  into  official 
relations  with  the  first  artists  of  the  day — painters, 
architects,  sculptors,  and  most  men  of  any  artistic  or 
literary  eminence  in  France.  Consequently,  he  had 
in  his  hands  the  bestowal  of  much  patronage,  and 
as  the  king  also  personally  esteemed  him,  adulation 
beset  him  on  every  side. 

In  vain,  however,  were  the  solicitations  of  the 
courtiers  or  of  Madame  de  Pompadour   in  favor  of 


LE  MARQUIS  D'AVANTHIRR.  339 

their  prot/g/s.  He  refused  to  ask  anything  of  the  king 
that  did  not  concern  his  own  department.  The 
scruples  of  conscience  from  which  he  so  often  suf- 
fered, he  quieted  by  a  determination  to  merit  the 
office  he  held,  faithfully  discharging  its  duties,  and 
never  employing,  or  recommending  for  employment, 
any  one  of  whose  merit  and  ability  he  was  not  first 
fully  assured. 

He  was  created,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  Marquis  de 
Vandieres.  On  his  return  from  Italy,  the  appoint- 
ment of  Surveyor  of  Buildings  to  his  Majesty  was 
conferred  on  him.  He  was  then  but  twenty-three,  and 
both  the  friends  and  the  enemies  of  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour subsequently  acknowledged  that  by  the  ability 
and  aptitude  he  displayed,  and  the  manner  in  which 
the  functions  of  his  office  generally  were  performed, 
he  had  proved  that  no  worthier  choice  could  have  been 
made.  His  title  of  De  Vandieres  somewhat  annoyed 
him;  though  with  others  he  made  a  jest  of  it,  as  Le 
Marquis  cTAvant-hier.  It  was  changed  by  the  king  to 
De  Marigny,  or  another  title  was  conferred.  Of  this 
latter  he  said,  "  The  fishwomen  will  now  call  me  Mar- 
quis des  Mariniers,  and  rightly  so.  Am  not  I  a  fish 
by  birth  ?" 

Madame  la  Marquise  was  not  always  quite  pleased 
with  "the  little  brother,"  as  she  called  her  tall,  handsome 
young  brother.  *'  He  wanted  tact,"  she  said;  so  much 
so,  that  at  times  she  almost  regretted  she  had  been  the 
means  of  placing  him  in  connection  with  the  court. 
He  would  withdraw  if  he  saw  her  at  the  theatre  or  the 
opera,  to  avoid  hearing  unpleasant  remarks.  This 
annoyed  her.  He  passed  his  time,  however,  chiefly 
with  artists,  musicians,  and  men  of  letters.  But  some- 
times  he   attended    amongst    the    throng  who    paid 


340 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


homage  to  her  at  her  toilet.  Her  keen  eye  then  often 
detected  the  subdued  displeasure,  and  extreme  dis- 
dain, with  which  he  listened  to  the  fulsome  compli- 
ments of  the  servile  herd  of  flatterers  cringing  around 
her.  The  king  had  adopted  Madame  de  Pompadour's 
epithet  of  "little  brother,"  when  speaking  familiarly  of 
De  Marigny.  From  that  time,  whenever  he  was  seen 
in  the  galleries  of  Versailles,  immediately  a  crowd  of 
courtiers  surrounded  him;  so  eager  to  claim  his  friend- 
ship; so  interested  in  all  his  projects,  and  in  whatever 
works  of  his  own  he  had  in  hand. 

Referring  to  these  troublesome  attentions,  and  the 
unwelcome  homage  paid  him,  "If  I  chance,"  he  would 
say,  "  to  drop  my  pocket-handkerchief,  twenty  cordons 
bleus  will  immediately  contend  for  the  honor  of  pick- 
ing it  up."  Millionaires  of  La  Ferme  generale  of- 
fered their  daughters  in  marriage;  yN\v\t.\.o\\\s parvenu 
escutcheon  of  De  Marigny  he  might  have  added  the 
thirty-two  quarterings  of  an  ancient  house,  had  he 
chosen  to  cast  his  eyes  on  the  daughter  of  a  noble 
for  a  wife.  Despising  this  adulation,  cringing,  and 
fawning,  he  retained  his  simplicity  of  character  unper- 
verted  ;  appearing  at  court  with  a  sort  of  "  proud  em- 
barrassment," and  remaining  honest  and  honorable  in 
the  midst  of  corruption. 

His  susceptibility  was  often  wounded  by  the  scur- 
rilous epigrams  levelled  at  him  by  the  Comte  de  Mau- 
repas.  Minister  of  the  Navy ;  the  Navy  being  almost 
non-existent.  Maurepas'  relative,  M.  de  Saint-Flor- 
entin,  had  held,  with  little  credit  to  himself,  the  office 
of  Surveyor  of  Buildings,  now  so  satisfactorily  filled 
by  De  Marigny  ;  hence  De  Maurepas'  vexation.  His 
levity  and  indiscretion  were  proverbial ;  but  when, 
turning   from    the    brother,  Maurepas    attacked    the 


The  PkENCH  NAVY,  34t 

sister,  with  equal  scurrility  and  with  epithets  far  more 
offensive,  she,  who  professed  to  contemn  these  licen- 
tious doggerel  sallies — which  passed  for  wit  in  the 
tavern  circles  where  the  sottish  Piron  and  Panard  pre- 
sided— at  once  put  an  end  to  them.  M.  de  Maurepas 
was  required  to  resign  his  important  appointment 
as  the  head  of  an  imaginary  navy,  and  to  retire  to 
his  chateau,  if  he  had  one,  there  to  repent  of  his 
folly. 

At  that  time  the  office  of  Minister  of  the  Navy  was 
hereditary  in  the  Phelippeaux  family,  and  Jean  Phelip- 
peaux,  Comte  de  Maurepas,  had  succeeded  to  it  at  the 
age  of  fourteen.  The  youth  of  the  minister  was  of 
little  consequence;  his  post  had  become  a  sinecure. 
Neglect  had  almost  annihilated  the  French  navy. 
During  the  administration  of  Cardinal  Fleury,  the 
ships  of  war  were  left  uncared  for,  to  rot  and  perish 
in  the  ports. 

"Sire,"  said  the  Mar^chal  de  Belle  Isle  to  Louis 
XV.,  when  an  invasion  of  England  was  projected,  "  I 
could  immediately  raise  an  army  of  five  hundred 
thousand  men  to  defend  France  against  the  nations 
of  Europe  combined;  but  where  to  find  five  thousand 
seamen  to  man  the  few  ships  that  are  left  us  to  con- 
tend with  an  English  fleet,  I  know  not." 

For  twenty-seven  years  Maurepas  had  been  at  the 
head  of  thfs  flourishing  department  of  State.  His 
frivolity  had  often  amused  the  king,  and  in  the  course 
of  these  years  of  leisure  he  had  written  songs  of  the 
Pont-Neuf  without  number;  scandalous  histories; 
epigrams  in  rhyme,  which,  for  vulgarity  and  ob- 
scenity, might  vie  with  the  platitudes  of  Piron  (now 
so  admired  by  our  great  English  wits  of  the  nineteenth 
century).     The  buffooneries  of  Maurepas  had,  how- 


542 


THE  OLD  rAgiME, 


ever,  ceased  to  raise  even  a  languid  smile  on  the  still 
handsome  face  of  the  royal  ennuy/. 

A  rival  had  crossed  the  path  of  the  Ministre  de  la 
Marine,  and  Louis  soon  began  actually  to  yawn  at  the 
very  sight  of  Maurepas.  Perceiving  that  his  favor 
was  on  the  decline,  he  tortured  his  flighty  brain  to 
give  animation  to  the  desultory  talk  called  transacting 
business  with  the  king.  Yet  he  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised when  he  received  his  co7tg^.  Probably  he  would 
have  been  even  more  so,  had  he  known  that  the  dete- 
rioration of  the  king's  fine  complexion  was  one  among 
the  many  private  reasons  that  induced  his  dismissal. 
Day  after  day  the  marquise  exclaimed  that  "  his  maj- 
esty was  losing  his  fine  complexion  and  getting  sal- 
low." Maurepas'  inaptitude  for  business  produced 
the  weariness,  she  thought,  that  occasioned  those 
jaundice  tints.  No  improvement,  however,  took  place 
until  the  Pompadour  ministry  was  formed. 

One  obnoxious  member  only  of  the  old  cabinet  yet 
remained,  the  Comte  d'Argenson.  His  influence, 
though  far  less  than  that  of  the  marquise,  was  still 
powerful  with  the  king.  He  had  become  accustomed 
to  the  count,  and  Louis'  indolence,  and  a  certain 
timidity  that  accompanied  it,  made  him  ill  at  ease 
with  new  people.  The  Duchesse  de  Chdteauroux  had 
demanded  his  dismissal,  as  a  condition  of  her  return 
to  Versailles.  The  king  promised  compliance.  But 
her  illness  ensuing  in  death,  d'Argenson  retained  his 
office;  the  king  not  sharing  the  duchess's  resentment. 
So  unwilling  was  Louis  to  part  with  his  minister,  that 
although  there  were  few  requests  he  would  have  de- 
nied his  present  beautiful  mistress,  he  prayed  her  to 
do  him  the  favor  not  to  urge  him  again  on  that  point. 
D'Argenson  made  himself  very  agreeable  to  the  king, 


MADAME  DE  POMPADOUR  AS  MINISTER.     343 

though  he  was  the  declared  enemy  of  his  mistress, 
and  a  favorite  of  the  Jesuit  party  of  which  the  dauphin 
was  the  head.  The  result  of  the  king's  unwonted 
firmness  was  a  truce  between  the  mistress  and  the 
minister. 

In  her  private  study  the  affairs  of  the  nation  were 
fully  discussed,  and  intricate  business  of  State  ex- 
plained to  her.  Her  great  intelligence,  and  ready 
and  acute  perception  of  the  difficulties,  or  varying  as- 
pects, of  a  question  in  the  course  of  its  discussion,  and 
their  bearing  on  the  political  situation  of  France,  as 
concerned  both  her  domestic  policy  and  relations  with 
foreign  countries,  were  remarkable.  They  won  for 
her  many  friends,  and  as  many  admirers  of  her  mental 
gifts,  among  the  men  of  ability,  the  aid  of  whose 
counsels  she  sought,  as  they  raised  up  enemies  among 
those  who  had  not  expected  to  find  an  able  minister 
of  State  in  an  accomplished,  fascinating  woman — am- 
bitious only  of  homage,  as  they  imagined,  and  of 
enjoying  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  a  court. 

It  was  the  duty  of  the  king  to  work  with  his  minis- 
ters, and  he  possessed  sufficient  ability  and  judgment 
to  have  been  something  more  than  the  mere  cipher  he 
was  in  the  council  chamber.  But  mental  indolence 
made  him  averse  to  trouble  himself  with  the  affairs  of 
his  kingdom.  Madame  de  Pompadour  sought  to  coun- 
teract this  by  taking  advantage  of  any  opportunity, 
as  regarded  either  time  or  a  favorable  mood  of  mind, 
of  placing  before  him  a  digest — clear,  precise,  succinct 
— of  every  important  question  in  State  affairs.  She 
was  careful  before  all  things  not  to  weary  him;  and 
she  had  the  talent  of  rendering  her  conversation  with 
him  on  the  business  of  the  nation  interesting,  easy 
and  pleasant. 


344  ^-^^  OLD  R&GiMS:. 

"Women,  only,"  remarks  Capefigue,  "are  quick  to 
discern  the  joys  and  the  weaknesses  of  the  human 
spirit,  and  the  shades  which  escape  serious  minds." 

The  life  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  was  a  life  of 
labor,  thought,  and  care,  eventually  undermining  her 
health  and  bringing  her  to  a  premature  grave.  We 
know,  of  course,  that  the  real  object  of  her  unceasing 
exertions  was  the  retention  of  political  power,  the 
keeping  of  the  sceptre  of  France  firmly  in  her  grasp. 
This  only  could  be  done  by  retaining  undiminished 
her  immense  influence  over  the  w^eak  mind  of  the  king, 
who  was  surrounded  by  flatterers  of  both  sexes,  all 
eagerly  watching  for  her  downfall.  But  he  had  al- 
lowed her  to  place  her  yoke  on  him,  and  seemed  well 
content  to  wear  it,  for  he  appreciated  her  great  talents 
for  governing,  and  the  industry  which  he  himself  had 
not.  The  business  of  her  life  was  therefore  to  make 
her  yoke  so  easy,  so  pleasant,  and,  from  habit,  so 
necessary  to  him,  that  an  effort  to  shake  it  off  should 
be  an  effort  that  would  give  him  real  pain. 

The  young  Marquis  de  Marigny  interfered  not  at 
all  with  what  may  be  termed  the  political  life  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  There  was  in  that  respect 
a  wide  gulf  between  them;  but  in  their  talents  and 
accomplishments,  and  their  love  of  the  arts,  their  tastes 
were  in  harmony,  and  the  private  circle  of  the  brother 
was,  with  few  exceptions,  that  of  the  sister.  Her  hap- 
piest hours  were  probably  those  they  spent  together 
in  her  private  apartments  with  artists,  musicians, 
and  men  of  letters.  Sometimes  with  only  the  friends 
of  their  earliest  years — Paris-Duvernay  and  the  Abbe 
de  Bernis,  or  with  le  Docteur  Quesnay;  the  founder 
and  patriarch  of  the  philosophical  sect,  the  "  Econo- 
mists"— whose  doctrines,   as   applied  to  the  adminis- 


A   REMEDY  FOR  LOlV  SPIRITS.  345 

tration  of  government,  were  professed  and  advocated 
by  the  elder  Mirabeau,  in  his  "  L'Ami  des  Hommes," 
and  afterwards  by  Turgot  and  Malesherbes. 

Quesnay  was  Madame  de  Pompadour's  physician, 
and  had  an  entresol  apartment  assigned  him  in  the 
palace  as  a  residence.  Though  inhabiting  Versailles 
or,  when  in  Paris,  the  splendid  Hotel  d'Evreux  (now 
Elys6e  Bourbon — so  interesting  in  its  historical  asso- 
ciations, and  which  the  marquise  had  lately  bought 
of  the  Comte  d'Evreux  for  650,000  frarus)  Quesnay 
meddled  with  no  court  intrigues.  He  paid  his  daily 
visit  to  his  patient,  whose  then  languid  spirits  were 
but  the  forerunners  of  the  gloom  and  sadness  of  a 
mind  diseased.  Though  brilliant  in  society,  when 
alone  with  her  thoughts  she  was  oppressed  with  mel- 
ancholy deeper  than  the  king's.  She  had  fully 
awakened  from  her  dream  of  finding  happiness  in  the 
splendors  of  a  court,  and  as  the  favorite  of  the  king. 

"  The  spell  has  lost  its  power,"  she  writes  to  the 
Comtesse  de  Noailles,  "  Now  I  find  in  my  heart  only 
a  great  void  that  nothing  can  fill." 

Quesnay,  who  was  eloquent  on  no  other  subject 
than  rural  economy,  did  his  best  to  cheer  the  spirits 
of  his  fair  patient  by  explaining  to  her  the  advantages 
to  be  derived  from  free  trade  in  grain,  and  the  impe- 
tus commerce  would  receive  when  his  system  should 
be  practically  adopted.  Turgot,  Diderot,  Helvetius, 
d'Alembert,  and  Marigny,  would  often  discuss  the 
theories  of  Quesnay  for  hours  together,  in  his  entresol^ 
and,  when  in  Paris,  far  into  the  night.  Some  three  or 
four  years  later,  the  Marquis  de  Mirabeau  became  one 
of  Quesnay's  most  zealous  disciples. 

The  economistic  theory  of  Quesnay  was  a  singular 
remedy  for  low  spirits,  but  appears  to  have  been  gen- 


346  TM£  OLD  rAgIMR. 

erally  successful  with  Madame  de  Pompadour.  She 
confessed  that,  although  willing  to  respond  to  his 
anxious  wish  that  she  should  become  a  proselyte  to 
his  views,  yet  she  could  never  comprehend  what  he 
called  his  "  chain  of  axioms,"  so  irresistible,  as  he  told 
her,  in  their  evidence. 

The  *•  net  products"  also — the  result  of  his  own  and 
d'Alembert's  careful  calculations — remained  an  un- 
solved mystery  to  her.  But  the  eagerness  and  warmth 
of  the  philosophic  doctor,  when  he  got  well  into  his 
subject,  greatly  amused  his  patient,  and  the  conclusion 
of  her  lesson  in  political  economy  was  usually  a 
hearty  laugh.  As  a  physician,  this  may  have  pleased 
him;  though,  as  an  enthusiastic  "Economist"  he  was 
probably  disappointed. 


CHAPTER  XXXIIL 

Rousseau's  Prize  E^say. — Rousseau,  un  Vrai  Genevois. — Rous- 
seau's Theories  Refuted. — Voltaire  ct  L'Homme  Sauvage. 
— A  Morbid  State  of  Feeling. — Thferise  Levasseur. — Jean- 
Jacques*  Second  Essay. — Diderot  and  Jean- Jacques. — The 
Trowel  versus  the  Pen. — "  Le  Diable  k  Quatre." — L'Homme 
Sauvage  in  Society. — "  Jean- Jacques,  Love  your  Country." — 
An  Abjuration. 

Diderot  had  published,  in  1746,  his  "Pens^es  Philo- 
sophiques,"  an  atheistical  work,  for  which  he  was 
shortly  after  arrested  and  conveyed  to  Vincennes. 
Confinement  had  so  irritating  an  effect  on  the  violent 
temperament  and  ill-regulated  mind  of  this  great  gen- 
ius, that  there  were  symptoms  of  the  probability  of 
his  imprisonment  ending  in  madness.  To  avert  so 
great  a  catastrophe,  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  sug- 
gested his  discharge,  and  after  some  little  hesitation 
in  high  quarters,  Diderot  was  set  at  liberty.  His 
"  Letters  on  the  Blind,  for  the  Use  of  Those  who  See," 
then  promptly  appeared,  and  procured  him  a  lodging 
in  the  Bastille  ;  where  the  philosophic  brotherhood  vis- 
ited him,  apparently  without  restraint. 

Among  them,  in  1749,  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau  daily 
presented  himself — his  sympathy  for  the  captive  phil- 
osopher, inducing  him  to  make  an  application  in  his 
favor  to  Madame  de  Pompadour.  No  notice  was 
taken  of  it.  Indeed,  the  writings  of  Diderot,  except 
perhaps  his  notes  and  criticisms  on  the  pictures  and 


348  ^-^^  OLD  kAGIMk. 

painLcrs  of  his  day,  are  as  repelling  as  he  was  himself, 
personally,  coarse  and  repulsive. 

It  was  on  one  of  his  daily  visits  to  the  prisoner  of 
the  Bastille,  that  Jean-Jacques,  chancing  to  take  up  the 
"Mercure  de  France,"  saw  an  announcement,  of  the 
Academy  of  Dijon,  proposing  as  the  subject  of  a  prize 
essay,  for  open  competition,  "  What  is  the  Influence  of 
the  Sciences  and  Arts  on  Morality  ?"  Rousseau  de- 
termined to  compete  for  this  prize  ;  but  was  undecided 
whether  to  depreciate  the  sciences,  or  to  exalt  them  ; 
to  denounce  the  arts  as  fatal  to  virtue,  or  to  maintain 
that  their  influence  was  beneficial  to  mankind.  On 
his  way  back  to  Paris  he  sat  down  under  a  tree  to  re- 
flect on  the  subject.  The  result  was  the  sophistical 
essay  which  gained  the  prize  of  the  Dijon  Academy  and 
brought  him  prominently  into  notice  in  Paris.  That 
Rousseau  wrote  from  conviction,  of  course,  no  one  be- 
lieved. Yet  it  was  necessary  that  arguments  in  sup- 
port of  such  sophisms,  as  the  delights  of  savage  life, 
and  the  blissfulness  of  ignorance,  should  be,  or  appear 
to  be,  forcible — commending  themselves  to  the  imagi- 
nation, at  all  events,  if  not  to  the  understanding.  Be- 
ing drawn  from  the  imagination,  they  imparted  a  sort 
of  fervor  and  eloquence  to  the  advocacy  of  his  novel 
views  of  happiness.  Yet  it  is  probable  that  the  essay 
would  have  passed  altogether  unnoticed,  had  he  treated 
his  subject  more  rationally.  His  style  was  not  like 
that  of  Voltaire,  in  itself  attractive  ;  for,  as  recently 
observed,*  no  Swiss  writer  of  eminence  is  so  little 
French  in  his  style  as  Jean-Jacques.  "  He  was  a  true 
Genevese." 

When  his  essay  appeared,  the  French  philosophers 

*  In  the  Revue  Suisse. 


ROUSSEAWS  THEORIES  REFUTED. 


349 


and  society  generally,  believed  that  they  had  attained 
the  highest  point  of  civilization  and  social  refinement ; 
and  that  it  was  attributable  to  the  immense  develop- 
ment and  progress  of  the  sciences  and  arts.  Rous- 
seau's affectation  of  seeing  in  them  only  the  source  of 
every  ill,  amused  that  novelty-loving  age,  as  a  pleasant 
jest  ;  none  the  less  pleasant  because  disguised  by  an 
air  of  seriousness.*  Judging  from  his  subsequent 
conduct,  and  from  much  that  he  afterwards  wrote  (for 
previously  he  had  professed  to  love  Italy,  "  Europe 
owes  to  her,"  he  said,  "all  the  arts  "),  Rousseau's  one 
great  object  was  to  draw  attention  to  himself,  and, 
before  all  things,  to  be  talked  about.  And  he  suc- 
ceeded. 

Henceforth,  or  at  least  for  a  time,  until  he  became 
too  savage,  he  was  to  be  met  at  the  sumptuous  din- 
ners and  suppers  of  Baron  d'Holbach,  and  Helvetius. 
Also,  at  the  reunions  and  bachelor  dinners,  given  week- 
ly by  the  young  Comte  de  Frise — a  nephew  of  the  Mar6- 
chal  de  Saxe — to  whom  Baron  Grimm  was  then  sec- 
retary. (De  Frise  had  inherited  a  princely  fortune 
while  yet  a  mere  youth,  and  dissipated  nearly  the 
whole  of  it  in  gambling  and  riotous  living ;  small-pox 
soon  put  an  end  to  his  libertine  career.)  It  was  then 
ihat  Jean- Jacques  became  so  intimate  with  Grimm, 
who  was  musical  and  accomplished,  and,  being  much 
sought  after  in  the  society  of  the  court,  often  procured 
tor  his  friend  employment  as  a  copier  of  music.  For 
Rousseau  had  given  up  a  situation  of  cashier,  obtained 

*  King  Stanislaus,  however,  amongst  his  poets,  and  surrounded 
by  painters  and  sculptors,  whom  he  had  invited  to  his  court  to  em- 
bellish the  palaces  and  public  buildings  of  Nancy  and  Luneville, 
was  indignant  with  Rousseau,  and  took  up  his  pen  to  reply  to  his 
arguments  and  to  refute  them. 


350  THE  OLD  REGIME, 

for  him  by  the  nephew  of  Madame  Dupin,  and  adopted 
this  precarious  method  of  gaining  a  living. 

To  Voltaire — of  whom  little  was  seen  in  Paris  after 
the  death  of  Madame  du  Chatelet,  and  the  still  more 
afflicting  circumstance  of  Crebillon  being  received 
with  favor  by  Madame  de  Pompadour — Rousseau 
sent  a  copy  of  his  essay.  In  a  letter  of  thanks  con- 
taining many  flattering  expressions,  he  jestingly  re- 
marked, that  while  reading  it,  he  had  felt  the  strong- 
est inclination  to  walk  on  all  fours.  "  No  one  ever 
tried  so  hard,"  he  says,  "  to  make  beasts  of  us." 
Rousseau  took  great  offence  at  this.  He  had  before 
been  an  admirer  of  Voltaire;  henceforth  he  became 
his  enemy. 

Though  everywhere  welcomed  with  much  cordiality, 
he  was  far  from  being  at  ease  in  the  society  he  now 
frequented.  Under  a  modest  and  reserved  exterior, 
and  timidly  polite  manners,  there  lurked  pride,  dis- 
trust, envy,  and  resentment.  The  luxurious  banquets 
of  d'Holbach;  the  elegancies  that  surrounded  the 
witty  and  refined  Helvetius,  displeased  Jean-Jacques. 
There  was  no  geniality  in  him.  Unaccustomed  to  any 
society  but  that  of  the  vulgar  and  illiterate  Therese 
Levasseur  and  her  mother,  he  felt  conscious  that  he 
was  out  of  his  place,  and  sat  moodily  silent  in  those 
animated  circles;  glancing  around  him  furtively  and 
askance,  yet  keenly  observant  of  all  that  took  place. 
"No  one,"  says  Marmontel,  "ever  more  persistently 
put  into  practice  the  miserable  maxim,  '  One  should 
live  with  one's  friends  as  if  they  were  some  day  to 
become  one's  enemies,'  than  did  Rousseau." 

The  indigence  into  which  he  had  fallen  on  his  re- 
turn from  Venice  in  1745,  may  have  greatly  contrib- 
uted to  deepen  his  naturally  morbid  state  of  feeling, 


THlRESE  LEVASSEUR.  3JI 

which  with  increasing  years  seemed  to  grow  deeper 
still;  embittered  his  life;  alienated  his  friends,  and 
deprived  him  of  much  of  the  legitimate  reward  of  his 
literary  labors. 

Whether  owing  to  his  business  occupations,  or  that 
he  had  not  been  able  to  obtain  for  it  an  advantageous 
hearing,  "  Le  Devin  du  Village,"  if  finished,  had  not 
yet  been  produced.  Some  of  its  songs  and  airs  he 
was  accustomed  to  sing  and  play,  wherever  he  found 
a  harpsichord  to  accompany  him.  Generally  they 
were  thought  pleasing  and  pretty,  though  Rousseau's 
voice  was  thin  and  harsh,  and  little  calculated  to  add 
any  charm  to  his  music.  Duclos,  however,  spoke  of  it 
favorably  to  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and,  soon  after 
Rousseau's  Dijon  success,  his  operetta  was  performed 
at  Versailles,  and  again  at  Fontainebleau. 

All  who  were  present,  amongst  whom  were  the 
queen  and  the  princesses,  were  charmed  with  it.  The 
marquise  sang  the  airs,  which  became  popular;  and 
the  king  was  so  well  pleased  with  them  that  he  desired 
to  see  the  composer.  But  the  composer,  though  puffed 
up  with  vanity  at  the  success  of  his  musical  trifle, 
shrank  from  an  interview  with  the  king,  notwithstand- 
ing the  sharp  goadings  of  Th^rese.  Her  displeasure 
with  "her  man"  was  expressed  with  an  eloquence  that 
a  fish-woman  might  have  envied.  She,  poor  woman, 
saw  a  pension  looming  in  the  distance,  and  perhaps 
her  children  reclaimed  from  among  "  the  foundlings." 
And  a  pension,  at  the  instance  of  the  marquise,  might 
have  been  granted,  had  Rousseau  but  temporarily  dis- 
pelled Louis'  ennui  by  appearing  before  him  in  his  Ar- 
menian caftan  and  robes — a  not  undignified  costume, 
when  appropriately  worn,  though  it  transformed  poor 
Jean-Jacques  into  an  eccentric  figure  of  fun. 


352  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

The  Academy  of  Dijon  again,  in  the  following  year, 
proposing  a  subject  for  a  prize  essay,  "  The  Origin  of 
the  Inequality  among  Mankind,"  Rousseau  once  more 
took  up  his  pen.  The  prize  was  not  on  this  occasion 
decreed  to  him.  But  his  generally  perverted  views, 
and  the  plausibility  with  which  he  sometimes  pre- 
sented them,  together  with  the  singularities  of  his 
conduct,  sufficed  to  fix  attention  upon  him.  Curiosity 
was  therefore  sure  to  be  raised  by  whatever  he  wrote. 
He  became  the  fashion  in  the  salons.  Society,  desirous 
of  taking  a  near  view  of  the  gentle  savage,  made  a 
lion  of  him,  sought  after  and  courted  him. 

His  head  was  nearly  turned  by  his  imaginary  social 
success.  He  gave  himself  extraordinary  airs,  and 
sulked  and  pouted  when  he  thought  he  was  not  made 
enough  of.  The  ladies  coaxed  and  petted  him,  but 
laughed  at  him  behind  his  back;  as  men  might  do 
when  flattering  a  vain,  capricious,  pretty  woman, 
whose  excessive  amour-propre  was  ever  in  danger  of 
being  disquieted  by  any  fancied  lack  of  attention  and 
admiration. 

He  suffered  far  less  in  the  more  congenial  society 
of  Therese.  She  recalled  him  to  his  senses,  when  he 
returned  home  in  a  fashionable  fit  of  the  vapors.  His 
wounded  feelings  received  but  rough  treatment  from 
his  wife,  "  in  the  sight  of  heaven  and  by  the  law  of 
nature,"  but  whom  the  salons  refused  to  acknowledge, 
Therese  had  feelings  also,  and  was  not  sparing  of 
Strong  epithets  when  she  thought  of  the  wrongs  he 
had  done  her. 

Since  Jean-Jacques  had  frequented  the  salons  of  the 
great  world,  he  had  often  chanced  to  meet  the  young 
Marquis  de  Marigny,  who,  like  himself,  though  from 
different  motives,  and   in  a  different   manner,  main- 


THE   TROWEL   VERSUS   THE  PEN. 


353 


tained  a  certain  degree  of  reserve  in  society.  Rous- 
seau seems  to  have  felt  attracted  towards  him,  and,  in 
his  awkward,  shy  way,  inclined  to  a  more  intimate 
acquaintance.  Diderot,  his  former  bosom-friend,  since 
his  release  from  durance  vile,  had  evinced  strong 
symptoms  of  jealousy  of  Rousseau's  notoriety.  Cold, 
caustic,  also  ready  to  take  offence  **at  trifles,"  as  Mar- 
montel  says,  Jean-Jacques  had  become  incomprehen- 
sible to  Diderot. 

When,  too,  he  considered  the  strange  doctrines  he 
now  put  forth,  his  desire,  as  it  seemed,  to  found  a  sect 
whose  aim  should  be  to  arrest  the  progress  of  civili- 
zation; to  turn  its  course  backward,  as  it  were — 
preaching  as  happiness  to  men  gifted  with  intellect,  a 
state  of  nature,  what  could  he  think,  but  that  Jean- 
Jacques  was  a  madman  ?  "  That  man  is  a  lunatic,"  he 
exclaimed.  One  or  other  of  these  men  must  have 
been  very  much  changed  to  have  made  intimacy, 
much  less  friendship,  possible  between  them. 

But  Diderot  was  now  fully  engaged  with  d'Alem- 
bert  in  preparing  for  the  first  issue  of  the  Encyclo- 
paedia; while  Rousseau,  influenced  probably  by  a 
musical  reputation,  and  a  preference  expressed  for 
Italian  music,  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Marigny. 
The  young  marquis,  as  Jean-Jacques,  doubtless,  was 
aware,  was  the  first  to  patronize  Sedaine,  "  Le  resto- 
rateur  de  I'Opera  Comique."  Sedaine  was  a  stone- 
mason, and  a  skilful  workman,  probably;  being  en- 
trusted with  the  reparation  of  the  marble  fountains  of 
the  gardens  of  Versailles.  While  thus  occupied,  he 
one  day  contrived  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
Marigny,  in  the  course  of  which  he  informed  him  that 
he  purposed  shortly  to  give  up  the  stonemason's  tools 
and  take  to  the  pen.     Marigny  smiled. 


354  ^-^^   0^^  REGIME. 

"  Better  keep  to  the  trade  you  are  master  of,"  he 
said,  "  than  leave  it  for  one  you  have  to  learn." 

"It  is  for  the  Opera  Comique  I  propose  to  write," 
he  replied.  "  Allow  me  to  read  to  you  the  play  I  have 
written." 

Permission  was  readily  given.  Sedaine  read  his 
piece,  afterwards  so  popular — "  Le  Diable  a  Quatre," 
and  Marigny  no  longer  doubted,  as  he  said,  the  stone- 
mason's ability  to  use  the  pen  as  skilfully  as  the 
trowel.  The  music  of  his  next  piece,  "  Le  Roi  et  le 
Fermier,"  was  composed  by  Marigny,  and  proved  a 
great  success.  Marigny  was  an  accomplished  amateur, 
and  Sedaine,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say,  became 
the  most  popular  of  the  writers  of  vaudeville  and 
operetta;  far  surpassing  Panard,  sometimes  called  the 
"  La  Fontaine  of  vaudeville,"  Sedaine's  pieces  possess 
an  interest  quite  independent  of  the  music,  though 
he  was  usually  fortunate  in  his  musical  fellow-laborers. 

Marigny's  receptions  were  especially  artistic  and  lit- 
erary, without  any  pretension  to  philosophism,  and 
were  occasionally  attended  by  Jean-Jacques.  It  was, 
however,  scarcely  consistent  with  his  professed  opin- 
ions on  the  subject  of  the  sciences  and  arts,  to  fre- 
quent a  reunion  composed  almost  entirely  of  persons 
who  made  them  their  principal  study.  It  was  evi- 
dent, notwithstanding,  that  he  had  a  predilection  for 
their  society. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  was  anxious  to  see  this  ad- 
vocate of  the  life  of  the  backwoods.  A  special  invita- 
tion was  therefore  sent  to  him,  for  a  reception  at  which 
ladies  would  be  present;  and  Jean-Jacques  duly  made 
his  appearance.  He  wore  a  cloth  coat,  hazel  color, 
and  of  the  cut  then  in  fashion;  linen,  fine  and  white, 
cambric  cravat,  without  lace,  but  nicely  plaited  and 


"JEAN-JACQUES,  LOVE    YOUR    COUNTRY:'    355 

got  up  by  Th^r^se;  no  ruffles;  small  round  wig,  no 
powder;  silk  breeches,  maroon-colored  stockings,  sil- 
ver shoe  and  knee  buckles,  and  cane  in  his  hand — un 
vrai  petit-mattre.  Though  supposed  to  be  always  out 
of  health,  his  complexion  is  described  as  ruddy;  his 
features  peculiarly  Swiss. 

On  his  introduction  to  Madame  de  Pompadour,  his 
manner  was  flurried  and  nervous.  Desirous  of  play- 
ing the  bear,  he  was  yet  restrained  by  a  wish  to  be- 
have with  politeness  to  this  fascinating  and  all-power- 
ful lady — the  more  so,  perhaps,  that  he  was  conscious 
of  being  decked  out  as  if  for  making  conquests  that 
evening.  Indeed,  some  ladies  were  heard  to  declare 
that  ^* rhomme  sauvage"  was  really  "quite  a  handsome 
fellow."  "  Le  Devin  du  Village"  was  of  course  the 
first  subject  of  conversation.  Madame  la  Marquise  so 
much  admired  "that  charming  little  opera,"  that 
Jean-Jacques  was  delighted.  Vanity  tore  off  his  bear- 
skin, and  compelled  him  to  behave  far  more  like  a 
civilized  creature  than  was  his  wont — singing  and 
playing,  first  at  his  own  suggestion,  then  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  marquise,  several  pleasing  songs  and 
pieces  of  his  own  composing. 

It  is  probable  that  Rousseau  might  have  acquired  a 
fair  reputation  as  a  composer,  had  he  applied  himself 
more  steadily  to  the  scientific  study  of  music  while  in 
Italy.  But  he  seems  to  have  remained  satisfied  with 
the  reputation  of  a  clever  amateur ^  which  his  "  Muses 
Galantes,"  and  "  Le  Devin  du  Village,"  with  some 
few  chansonnettes  and  short  pieces  for  the  harpsichord 
had  gained  him.  His  introduction  to  Madame  de 
Pompadour  led  to  no  results,  as  regarded  his  future 
career,  and  shortly  after  it  he  left  Paris  for  Switzerland. 

"Jean  Jacques,  love  your  country,"  had   been  his 


356  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

father's  oft-iterated  counsel  to  him  in  boyhood;  and 
it  may  have  recurred  to  him  when,  after  an  absence  of 
many  years,  he  determined  to  revisit  the  land  of  his 
birth.  The  "  Citoyen  de  Geneve,"  as  it  was  his  cus- 
tom to  sign  himself,  was  well  received  by  his  fellow- 
citizens.  The  fame  of  his  pamphlets  and  music  had 
preceded  him.  But  his  public  renunciation  of  the 
Roman  Catholic  faith,  and  return  to  Protestantism, 
was  more  particularly  gratifying  to  them,  than  those 
first  literary  efforts — soon  to  be  succeeded  by  others 
that  eventually  raised  a  tempest  of  ill-feeling  against 
him,  and  caused  his  ejection  from  the  land  that  now 
welcomed  his  return. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Anglo-mania. — A  New  Source  of  Favor. — The  Wines  of  Bordeaux. 
— A  Present  from  Richelieu. — Chateau-Lafitte  promoted. — A 
Challenge  to  Burgundy. — The  6cole  Militaire.— Its  Real 
Projector. — L'Hotel  des  Invalides. — The  Academy  of  Archi- 
tecture.— The  Rubens  Gallery. — Vernet's  French  Seaports. — 
Jean  Honor6  Fragonard. — The  Painter  Chardin. — The  Queen's 
Oratoire. — The  Winner  of  the  Grand  Prix. — Advice  to  a 
Young  Artist. — An  Admirable  Plan. — Funds  not  Forth- 
coming. 

Generally,  it  may  be  said,  that,  throughout  the 
long  reign  of  Louis  XV.,  industry  and  commerce 
were  slumbering.  Yet  there  were  intervals  of  partial 
awakening  from  this  state  of  inactivity,  of  which  the 
most  notable  was  from  1748  to  1756 — the  period  that 
elapsed  between  the  signing  of  the  peace  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  and  the  beginning  of  the  Seven  Years'  War. 
Considerable  progress  was  then  made,  as  well  in  the 
arts  and  sciences  as  in  the  manufactures  of  the  coun- 
try. In  its  social  aspects,  it  was  also  a  brilliant 
period — a  bright  gleam  from  the  fast-setting  sun  of 
the  old  regime — luxury  in  dress,  in  furniture,  in  equi- 
pages, everywhere  meeting  the  eye. 

In  certain  circles,  inoculated  by  Montesquieu,  Vol- 
taire, and  others,  with  what  was  termed  Anglo-mania, 
many  took  the  opportunity  afforded  by  the  Peace  of 
visiting  England.  Fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  set  out 
for  "  the  tight  little  island,  the  land  of  freedom,"  and 


358  I'HE   OLD  REGIME, 

the  refined  court  of  George  II.,  with  very  high  expec- 
tations. They  returned,  alas  !  with  the  enthusiasm 
of  their  feelings  somewhat  chilled.  In  return, 
foreigners  of  distinction,  and  especially  Englishmen, 
thronged  to  Paris.  Young  noblemen  frequented  its 
salons^  "  to  form  themselves"  in  these  schools  of  fin- 
ished courtesy  and  perfection  of  taste. 

The  Due  de  Richelieu,  now  well  on  the  road  from 
iifty  to  sixty,  and,  as  some  assert,  with  a  deep  tinge 
of  red  in  his  nose  that  annoyed  him  exceedingly,  was 
still  held  up  as  the  model  of  a  fascinating  libertine. 
One  may  learn  from  Lord  Chesterfield's  letters  how 
this  worthless  old  rake — for  it  is  he  who  is  alluded 
to,  as  achieving  so  much  social  success  with  no  higher 
claims  than  his  fine  manners,  and  his  affectation  of 
homage  to  women — was  still  courted  in  the  salons. 
Every  post  he  had  held  throughout  his  career, 
whether  military  or  diplomatic,  had  been  conferred 
for  no  merit;  but  was  obtained  through  the  intrigues 
and  persistent  support  of  his  phalanx  of  female  parti- 
sans. But  the  wars  were  over,  at  least  for  a  time, 
and  the  worthy  duke  was  now  at  full  leisure  to  slay 
ladies*  hearts,  and  to  pursue  his  drawing-room  con- 
quests. 

At  this  opportune  moment  of  fetes  and  banquets,  a 
lucky  chance  presented  itself  of  increasing  his  favor 
with,  the  king.  It  won  him  also  the  thanks  of  the 
court,  and  even  of  the  philosophic  band  of  diners- 
out.  The  king,  who  unfortunately  could  not  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  stint  his  libations  to  the  rosy  god  of 
wine,  was  at  this  time  supplied  by  the  duke  with  a 
new  sensation  of  that  kind,  which  also  very  shortly 
after  became  the  means  of  imparting  new  zest  to  the 
Apician  repasts  of  the  rich  Baron  d'Holbach,  of  He- 


THE  WINES  OF  BORDEAUX.  559 

nault  and   Helvetius,  and   the  tables  of  the  wealthy 
generally. 

A  sudden  thought  one  day  struck  the  languid, 
melancholy  Louis,  when  Richelieu,  after  a  short, 
dreary,  and  almost  silent  interview,  was  taking  his 
leave  of  the  king. 

"  Do  your  Bordelais  vineyards,  Richelieu,"  he  said, 
*' produce  any  drinkable  wine?"  and  "  Le  Bien  aim6" 
raised  himself  from  his  reclining  position,  as  though 
reanimated  by  the  mere  sound  of  the  word  wine. 

The  duke,  recalled,  as  it  were,  to  the  presence  of 
his  august  sovereign,  replied: 

"  Sire,  there  are  growths  of  the  country  which  yield 
wine  not  exactly  bad.  There  is  what  they  call  in 
those  parts  *  Blanc  de  Sauterne,*  a  very  palatable 
wine;  by  no  means  to  be  despised.  Then  they  have 
a  certain  'Vin  Grave,'  which  has  a  strong  odor  of 
flint-stone,  and  resembles  Moselle,  but  keeps  better. 
Also,  they  have  'Medoc  '  and  le  '  Bizadois.'  But  there 
is  especially  one  kind  of  red  wine,  which  the  Bor- 
deaux people  boast  of  and  praise  so  extravagantly,  that 
your  Majesty  would  be  much  amused  to  hear  them. 
Were  one  to  give  heed  to  their  gasconades,  one  must 
suppose  that  the  earth  produces  no  wine  that  equals 
it;  that  it  is,  as  they  say,  *  Nectar  for  the  table  of  the 
gods.'  Yet  this  much-lauded  wine  is  neither  a  very 
potent  nor  generous  one;  though  its  bouquet  is  not 
bad.  In  its  flavor  there  is  a  sort  of  indescribable, 
dull,  subdued  sting  or  mordant;  and  it  is  not  at  all 
disagreeable.  For  the  rest,  you  may  drink  as  much 
as  you  please  of  it.  It  sends  you  to  sleep,  that's  all ; 
and,  to  my  mind,  that's  its  chief  merit." 

The  description  of  the  wines  of  Bordeaux  seemed 
to  satisfy  his  majesty,  but  created  no  desire  to  taste 


360  ^tiE   OLD  REGIME, 

them.  His  favorite  sparkling  vin  d'Ai  was  still,  to  his 
fancy,  the  royal  wine,  fit  for  kings  and  princes,  and 
the  fine  ladies  of  his  court.  Richelieu  therefore  went 
his  way  without  any  order  for  claret.  Two  or  three 
weeks  after,  however,  there  arrived  at  Versailles  a 
messenger  of  the  duke's,  from  his  chdteau  near  Bor- 
deaux, bringing  with  him  some  dozens  of  the  famous 
red  wine  so  vaunted  by  the  Bordelais.  The  messen- 
ger had  been  despatched  post  haste  to  fetch  it  from 
the  duke's  cellars,  that  the  king's  curiosity  concern- 
ing Bordeaux  wine  might  be  better  gratified  by  tast- 
ing it. 

A  cork  was  drawn  His  majesty  tasted,  and  tasted 
again,  after  the  manner  of  connoisseurs.  He  then 
drank  a  glass;  hesitated  for  awhile,  but  pronounced 
it  "a  passable  wine,"  and  the  ^^  bouquet "  slS  Richelieu 
had  said,  "not  bad,"  Half-an-hour's  reflection  pro- 
duced a  desire  to  taste  again — the  king  wished  to  be 
just.  He  liked  theyV  ne  sais  quot,  in  its  flavor,  better, 
and  ended  the  process  of  doing  it  justice  by  liking  it 
remarkably  well.  After  a  second  bottle,  he  unhesi- 
tatingly agreed  with  the  Bordelais  that  their  Chateau- 
Lafitte  was  fit  for  the  table  of  the  gods;  and,  higher 
honor  still,  fit  to  grace  the  table  of  the  petits-apparte- 
ments  of  the  King  of  France  and  Navarre.  Hence- 
forth to  that  honor  it  was  promoted. 

Its  fame  soon  spread.  For  it  had  not  been  tam- 
pered with;  not  prepared  (you  understand)  by  skilful 
hands,  as  for  the  present  educated  taste  of  the  con- 
noisseurs of  the  English  market.  The  wines  of  Bor- 
deaux now  took  their  place  on  the  tables  of  the 
wealthy.  But  until  thus  brought  into  favor,  through 
this  present  to  the  king  of  Chateau-Lafitte  from  the 
Due  de  Richelieu's  cellars,  no  one  would  have  thought 


A   CHALLENGE   TO  BURGUNDY,  361 

of  offering  his  guests  the  wine  of  Bordeaux — so  little 
was  it  known  or  esteemed  beyond  the  district  of  its 
growth. 

It  was  doubtless  brought  forward  to  play  its  part 
at  the  banquets,  public,  private,  and  royal,  which  in 
1 75 1  were  given  in  celebration  of  the  birth  of  a  son  to 
the  dauphin.  Then  Chateau-Lafitte,  publicly  repre- 
senting the  vineyards  of  Bordeaux,  was  as  a  herald 
throwing  down  the  gauntlet  of  defiance  to  a  rival, 
maintaining,  in  the  face  of  all  who  dared  dispute  the 
fact,  the  pre-eminence  of  their  produce,  as  bumpers 
were  filled,  and  the  guests,  with  three  times  three, 
drank  to  the  health  of  Young  Burgundy. 

The  eldest  son  of  the  dauphin  received  at  this  time 
the  title  of  Due  de  Bourgogne.  Louis  XV.,  though 
disliking  his  son,  was  really  well  pleased  at  the  birth 
of  this  child.  It  seemed  to  ensure  the  direct  succes- 
sion to  the  throne.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  Parisians 
also  raised  his  spirits  wonderfully.  For  he  was  re- 
markably sensitive  to  any  perceptible  loss  of  popu- 
larity, little  as  he  did  to  deserve  the  affection  of  his 
people.  Foreign  ministers  hastened  to  Versailles  to 
congratulate  the  king,  and  were  agreeably  surprised 
at  the  cordial  reception  he  gave  them.  The  listless- 
ness  with  which  they  were  usually  received,  and 
which  was  the  reason  that  an  audience  was  so  rarely 
sought  of  the  king,  had  wholly  disappeared.  Without 
throwing  aside  any  of  his  wonted  dignity  of  manner, 
his  majesty  almost  condescended  to  gaiety,  and  old 
courtiers  declared  they  had  never  before  seen  him  so 
apparently  happy. 

A  series  of  grand  christening /«f/<?j  took  place  at  Ver- 
sailles. The  queen  attended  them,  and  the  king  was  so 
gracious  as  to  assure  her  that  it  would  give  him  pleas- 


362  T'HE   OLD  REGIME. 

ure  to  see  her  more  frequently  joining  in  the  amuse- 
ments of  the  court,  and  the  diversions  of  the  petits-ap- 
partements.  Paris  was  brilliantly  illuminated  for  three 
successive  nights,  and  a  sum  of  600,000  livres  was 
ordered  by  the  king,  in  a  generous  fit,  to  be  expended 
on  public  festivities.  At  the  suggestion,  however,  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  it  was  disposed  of  in  marriage 
portions  to  six  hundred  young  girls,  whose  claims 
were  to  be  presented  in  the  course  of  that  year.  To 
celebrate  the  auspicious  event,  she,  too,  gave  a  dowry, 
of  a  thousand  francs  each,  to  fifteen  of  the  villagers' 
daughters  on  her  three  estates  of  Crecy,  Bellevue,  and 
the  Marquisate  of  Pompadour,  the  number,  fifteen, 
being  intended  as  a  compliment  to  the  king. 

In  this  same  eventful  year  was  founded  the  Ecole 
Militaire.  Historians  and  memoir  writers  are  far  from 
agreeing  to  whom  the  first  idea  of  this  noble  estab- 
lishment should  be  assigned.  The  dauphin  has  been 
named,  perhaps  because,  in  his  boyhood,  he  seemed 
inclined  to  a  military  life.  Debarred,  however,  by  his 
position  from  taking  any  active  command,  he  yet  was 
interested  greatly,  it  is  said,  in  the  training  of  young 
men  destined  for  the  army.  He  may  have  been  so ; 
but  he  would  probably  have  preferred  to  found  Jesuit 
monasteries  and  colleges.  Besides,  no  proposal  of  his, 
whatever  its  merits,  would  have  found  favor  with  the 
king.  Some  writers  have  said,  "  France  owes  the 
Ecole  Militaire  to  Comte  d'Argenson  ;"  others,  "  Mar- 
chault  was  the  real  projector  of  the  Ecole  Militaire  ;" 
again,  "  This  institution  is  mainly  due  to  the  brothers 
Pdris  ;"  and — least  likely  of  all — the  sole  merit  of  it 
has  been  given  to  Louis  XV.  himself. 

But  of  the  few  improvements  and  embellishments 
carried  out  in  Paris  during  the  reign  of  Louis  XV., 


L'MOTEl  DBS  INVAUDBS.  363 

from  1748,  as  well  as  of  many  that  were  projected  and 
begun,  but  afterw'ards,  from  want  of  funds  or  other 
causes,  abandoned,  the  real  originator  was  the  Marquis 
de  Marigny.  The  idea  of  the  Ecole  Militaire  is  said 
to  have  occurred  to  him  in  the  course  of  a  conversa- 
tion, with  M.  Marchault  and  others,  on  the  public  in- 
stitutions founded  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.,  and 
particularly  the  Hotel  des  Invalides.  The  subject  was 
discussed  at  Choisy,  at  one  of  the  intimate  reunions  of 
the  Marquise  de  Pompadour.  There,  reposing  from 
the  cares  of  government — for  nothing  was  done  with- 
out her  sanction,  in  any  department — she  occasionally 
sought  mental  recreation  in  a  small  circle  of  congenial 
friends — intellectual  and  artistic,  as  well  as  many  of 
high  rank  ;  for  her  partisans  were  numerous  in  every 
class  of  society. 

With  reference  to  Les  Invalides,  it  was  remarked 
by  one  of  the  company,  that  although  it  was  a  noble 
institution,  affording  an  honorable  retreat  to  the  worn- 
out  and  needy  military  man,  the  boon  was  still  incom- 
plete. It  offered  him  an  asylum,  after  spending  the 
best  years  of  his  life  in  camps  ;  but  if  there  was  a 
family,  it  rendered  no  assistance  in  bringing  up  a  son 
consistently  with  the  rank  and  profession  of  the  father. 
The  marquise  suggested  an  establishment  for  the 
wives  and  families  of  disabled  soldiers,  and  Marchault, 
who  was  Comptroller  of  Finances,  set  to  work  to  cal- 
culate its  probable  expense.  His  figures  were  alarm- 
ing, and,  together  with  other  obstacles  he  foresaw  to 
its  realization,  at  once  put  an  end  to  the  project. 

De  Marigny  then  proposed  what  he  thought  a  more 
feasible  scheme.  This  was  a  royal  school  or  college 
for  the  gratuitous  support  and  military  education  of  a 
certain  number  of  youths,  the  sons  of  needy  gentle- 


364  2^-^^   OLD  kEGIME. 

men,  and  especially  those  whose  fathers  had  fallen  in 
battle  in  the  service  of  the  king.  The  company  was 
much  pleased  with  this  scheme  ;  the  marquise  was 
charmed  with  it ;  and  Paris-Duvernay,  promising  to 
furnish  the  requisite  funds,  she  determined  to  bring  it 
under  the  notice  of  the  king.  When  submitted  to 
Louis  XV.,  he  gave  it  a  most  favorable  reception. 
Soufiflot  was  summoned  to  examine  the  plans  for  the 
building  sketched  by  his  pupil,  De  Marigny.  General- 
ly, he  approved  them,  and,  with  some  slight  variations, 
they  were  adopted.  The  king  fixed  at  five  hundred 
the  number  of  pupils  to  be  accommodated ;  and 
Madame  de  Pompadour  suggested  that  the  site  of  the 
royal  military  college  for  youths,  whom  she  designated 
"  the  hope  of  the  nation,"  should  be  chosen  as  near  as 
possible  to  the  hotel  of  the  gallant  veterans  who. 
equally,  were  its  pride. 

De  Marigny  was  an  excellent  draughtsman.  He 
was  desirous  of  reviving  the  prestige  of  the  French 
Academy  of  Architecture,  which  had  fallen  into  disre- 
pute. At  his  request,  the  king  re-established  it,  as  it 
were,  by  granting  new  letters  patent,  and  creating,  in 
connection  with  it,  a  school  of  architecture  in  Rome, 
thus  raising  it  to  a  level  with  the  Academy  of  Paint- 
ing. The  side  of  the  Louvre  looking  towards  the 
Seine,  as  far  as  it  was  continued  during  the  reign  of 
Louis  XV.,  was  completed  under  De  Marigny's  super- 
intendence. He  would  have  had  the  king  finish  the 
galleries  connecting  it  with  the  Tuileries,  in  order  to 
place  there  the  Musee  d'Antiques  and  Cabinet  de  Me- 
dailles.  But  useless,  expensive,  and  inglorious  wars 
emptied  the  treasury,  and  the  works,  resumed  from 
time  to  time,  were  then  entirely  discontinued.  Louis 
greatly  esteemed  De  Marigny,  and  justly  so.      "  He 


VEXIfETS  FRENCH  SEAPORTS,  365 

was  a  sensible  man,"  he  said,  *'  who  was  worth  ten 
brilliant  ones." 

In  the  galleries  of  the  Louvre,  from  the  time  of 
Henri  IV.  until  the  great  Revolution,  apartments  and 
studios  were  assigned  to  the  principal  artists  of  the 
day,  if  they  cared  to  make  use  of  them.  There  De 
Marigny  might  constantly  be  met  with  when  not  em- 
ployed in  the  galleries  of  Versailles.  He,  indeed, 
lived  almost  exclusively  in  the  society  of  artists,  writers, 
and  men  of  science.  It  was  he  who  undertook  the  for- 
mation of  the  Rubens  gallery;  collecting  the  works 
of  the  great  painter  from  the  various  palaces  in  which 
they  were  dispersed,  and,  in  some  instances,  disre- 
garded and  forgotten.  The  public  exhibition  of  pic- 
tures and  architectural  designs,  which  first  took  place 
at  regular  intervals  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XV.  and  in 
the  salon  of  the  Louvre  (whence  its  present  designa- 
tion), was  established  at  his  suggestion.  He  con-, 
sidered  that  both  art  and  artists,  as  well  as  the  public, 
would  gain  by  it. 

He  had  become  acquainted  with  Joseph  Vernet  while 
in  Rome,  and  with  his  talent  for  marine  landscape 
painting,  by  his  views  of  the  scenery  of  Genoa.  He 
now  urged  him  to  leave  Rome  for  Paris.  Vernet  fol- 
lowed his  advice,  and  received  from  his  friend  the 
king's  command  to  paint  those  views  of  the  seaports 
of  France,  so  well  known  through  the  engravings  of 
Le  Bas  and  Cochin.  Fifteen  of  those  paintings  are  in 
the  Louvre.  Vernet  was  then  about  thirty-eight,  and, 
as  a  painter,  was  at  his  best.  His  recent  picture,  the 
"Castle  of  St.  Angelo,"  had  greatly  raised  his  reputa- 
tion. His  Italian  pictures,  generally,  are  more  agree- 
able to  the  eye  than  those  painted  in  France.  It  may 
be  that  the  formality  of  the  groups  of  figures,  and  the 


366  THE  OLD  R&GIME, 

little  variation  of  scene,  impart  an  air  of  monotony 
and  coldness  to  the  seaports,  especially  when  several 
are  seen  together. 

De  Marigny,  like  Diderot,  was  an  admirer  of 
Greuze's  "  Seines  de  Families  "  Greuze,"  wrote  Dide- 
rot, "is  our  painter;  he  has  invented  moral  painting." 
While  Boucher's  fanciful  productions,  then  so  much 
sought  after  by  the  beau  monde,  he  designated  "  Pay- 
sages  de  l' Opera^''  and  his  shepherdesses  and  goddesses, 
"  pretty  puppets,"  with  the  borrowed  grace  and  dig- 
nity of  ^^ figurantes,  with  rouge  for  flesh,  and  powder 
for  hair."  Diderot  had  little  more  esteem  for  Carle 
Vanloo  than  for  Boucher;  yet  his  portraits  are  said  to 
be  generally  good  as  likenesses.  He  had  the  talent, 
or  art,  of  catching  the  expression  of  the  sitter. 

The  young  painter  who.  at  the  period  in  question, 
giave  promise  of  greatest  celebrity  was  Jean  Honore 
Fragonard.  At  the  age  of  twenty  his  picture  of  "  Jer- 
oboam Sacrificing  to  the  Idols,"  had  carried  off  the 
academy's  Grand  Prix  de  Rome.  It  was  considered 
a  remarkable  production  of  genius — the  painter  hav- 
ing received  but  little  instruction.  He  was  of  a  good 
Provengal  family;  but  at  his  father's  death  some  liti- 
gation took  place  which  resulted  in  the  loss  of  nearly 
the  whole  of  his  property.  Fragonard,  much  against 
his  inclination,  was  placed  as  clerk  to  a  notary.  He 
was  then  eighteen,  and  more  frequently  employed 
himself  in  making  pen-and-ink  sketches  of  cupids  and 
nymphs  and  pastoral  landscapes,  than  in  writing. 
This  did  not  please  the  notary.  But  he  discerned  so 
much  talent  in  these  sketchy  productions  that  he  rec- 
ommended the  young  man's  friends  to  place  him  with 
Boucher. 

Boucher,  then  at  the  height  of  his  fame,  as  a  fash- 


THE  PAINTER,  CHARDIN.  367 

ionable  painter,  took  no  pupils  who  were  not  already 
tolerably  well  acquainted  with  their  art.  With  his 
pink  and  blue  satin-draped  boudoir-atelier  constantly 
thronged  with  nobles,  anxious  to  secure  his  cabinet 
pictures  at  any  price  he  chose  to  set  on  them,  or 
to  engage  his  services,  on  the  same  terms,  for  the 
decoration  of  their  salons  with  some  of  his  inimitable 
panel  paintings  of  fetes  galantes^  or  those  graceful 
arabesques  he  so  tastefully  designed,  he  had  no  time 
for  teaching.  Boucher's  pupils  were  his  assistants, 
who  learned  what  they  pleased  to  adopt  of  his  style  by 
seeing  him  paint,  and  studying  the  effect  of  his  man- 
nerisms in  the  pictures  retouched  and  finished  by  the 
master's  own  hand. 

Fragonard's  sketches  were  glanced  at  by  Boucher. 
He  nodded  his  approval  of  them,  and  sent  the  aspir- 
ing youth  to  Chardin,  a  brilliant  colorist,  excellent 
draughtsman,  and  an  admirable  painter  of  still  life. 
Chardin,  after  looking  over  the  pen-and-ink  sketches 
that  had  so  pleased  the  notary,  put  into  Fragonard's 
hands  a  palette  and  brushes,  and  desired  him  to  paint. 
It  was  Rembrandt's  method,  and  succeeded  so  well 
with  Fragonard,  that  his  rapid  progress  astonished 
his  master.  He  had,  however,  supplemented  his  in- 
structions by  visiting,  at  every  spare  moment,  the 
churches  of  Paris,  where  there  were  then  more  fine 
pictures  than  are  to  be  found  in  them  now  ;  and  after 
a  diligent  study  of  them,  reproducing  from  memory 
those  that  had  most  particularly  struck  him. 

At  the  end  of  six  months  he  returned  to  Boucher, 
who  was  as  much  surprised  at  his  progress  as  Chardin 
had  been,  and,  as  pupil  without  payment,  now  gladly 
received  him.  Another  six  months  glided  by.  Fra- 
gonard   had  become  weary  of  the  grace  and  dignity 


368  THE   OLD  R£:GIME. 

of  the  beauties  of  the  coulisses  of  the  opera,  whence 
Boucher  selected  his  models  for  his  Saint  Cecilias 
and  Catherines,  and  even  for  the  holy  Virgin,  with 
which  he  decorated  the  Oratoire  of  the  pious  Marie 
Leczinska.*  Fragonard  was  also  ambitious  of  com- 
peting for  the  Grand  Prix  of  the  Academy,  though 
he  had  not  even  been  received  there  for  the  course  of 
study  from  the  model.  At  that  time,  1752,  the  prize 
was  open  to  all  competitors,  and  to  the  astonishment 
of  all,  was  won  by  a  youth  whose  studies  were  com- 
prised in  six  months*  pen-and-ink  sketching  in  a  no- 
tary's books,  six  months'  use  of  Chardin's  colors  and 
brushes,  and  six  months'  study  of  nature  amongst 
Boucher's  theatrical  landscapes  and  fetes  champitres. 

Before  the  young  artist  set  out  for  Rome,  Boucher, 
who  loved  Paris  far  better,  took  him  aside  and  said, 
"  My  dear  Frago,  you  are  about  to  see  in  Italy  the  works 
of  Raphael,  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  other  masters  of 
the  Italian  school ;  but  I  tell  you  in  confidence,  my 
friend,  you  are  a   lost  man   if  you   set  seriously   to 

*  The  king  visiting  the  queen's  apartments  to  inspect  Boucher's 
paintings,  fell,  as  the  phrase  is,  deeply  in  love  with  the  face  of  the 
holy  Virgin.  To  the  great  edification  of  the  poor  simple-minded 
queen,  Louis  also  fell  on  his  knees  before  this  vision  of  beauty,  and 
came  again  to  the  oratoire  more  than  once  to  gaze  on  it.  ' '  Was 
so  much  loveliness,"  he  asked,  "a  mere  creation  of  Boucher's 
fancy?"  It  was  a  question  for  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  to  reply 
to.  In  a  few  days  he  was  able  to  do  so.  The  beautiful  face  of 
the  Virgin  was  drawn  from  a  living  model.  She  was  the  painter's 
mistress,  "and,"  said  De  Berryer,  who  owed  his  office  to  Madame 
de  Pompadour,  "worshipped  by  him."  Louis  seemed  to  reflect. 
When  he  spoke  again,  Berryer  replied,  "•  Sire,  do  not  think  of  it. 
In  such  a  matter,  Boucher  is  a  man  to  be  feared.  The  e'meute  of 
the  other  day"  (which  had  been  rather  menacing  to  Berryer) 
' '  would  be  followed  up  by  a  revolt. " 


AN-  ADMIRABLE  PLAN.  ^ 

work  to  form  your  style  by  studying  the  works  of  those 
people." 

It  was  not  only  as  a  patron  of  the  artists  of  his  own 
day  that  the  Marquis  de  Marigny  was  distinguished. 
He  could  admire  the  frequently  admirable  productions 
of  Boucher's  facile  pencil,  painted  for  Louis  XV.  and 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  without  being  insensible  to 
the  superior  merit  of  "  those  people."  Andrea  del  Sar- 
to's  masterpiece,  and  the  "  Saint  Michael"  (on  panel)  of 
Raphael — both,  from  neglect,  fast  going  to  destruction 
— were  by  Picot's  invention,  of  which  De  Marigny 
bought  the  secret,  transferred  to  new  canvas.  The 
levelling  of  the  Champs  Elys6es,  the  formation  of 
the  Place  Louis  XV.,  and  the  replanting  of  the  Boule- 
vards, were  works  proposed  by  him  to  the  king,  and 
for  which  he  obtained  his  sanction. 

Together  with  Soufflot,  he  made  the  plans  for  the 
new  church  of  Ste.  Genevieve,  and  those  of  the  bar- 
riires  of  Paris.  Assisted  by  the  same  architect,  he 
elaborated  a  design  for  enlarging,  rebuilding,  embel- 
lishing, and  draining  Paris.  When  finished,  he  laid  it 
before  the  king.  The  work,  he  calculated,  would  take 
twenty  years  to  complete,  and  the  cost  of  it  he  esti- 
mated at  30,000,000  frs.,  or  1,500,000  frs.  per  annum. 
It  amused  Louis  XV.  to  go  into  the  particulars  of  this 
scheme ;  so  clearly  explained,  and  rendered  easily 
comprehensible  by  the  eagerness  of  its  advocate  to  rec- 
ommend it  to  his  notice. 

"  I  fancy,"  said  the  king,  "  were  your  scheme  carried 
out,  that  Paris,  already  the  finest  city  in  Europe,  would 
be  a  finer  one  still — certainly  more  airy  and  spacious." 

'*  Sire,  it  would  be  a  far  healthier  city,"  replied  De 
Marigny.  "  There  would  be  less  sickness,  with  proper 
drainage,  pure  water,  public  markets,  and  wider  streets. 


370 


THE   OLD  REGIME. 


The  finest  buildings  in  Paris  are  for  the  most  part 
concealed  by  narrow,  squalid  streets  and  dilapidated 
houses.  The  Louvre,  that  might  be  one  of  the  chief 
ornaments  of  the  city,  is  hemmed  in  by  mere  hovels. 
More  fountains  are  wanted,  more  trees  should  be 
planted,  more  theatres  erected,  and  many  monasteries 
suppressed." 

"  And  where,  M.  de  Marigny,"  said  the  king,  "  do 
you  imagine  I  should  find  the  money  you  require  to 
carry  out  your  admirable  plans  ?" 

"  Ah,  sire,"  he  replied,  "  such  a  thought  would  never 
have  occurred  to  your  great  ancestor,  Louis  XIV." 

"  I  wish  it  had  sometimes  done  so,"  said  the  king, 
"it  would  then  have  occurred  less  frequently  to  me." 

It  was  unfortunate  that  such  scruples  should  have 
pressed  on  the  conscience  of  Louis  XV.  only  when  the 
improvement  of  his  capital,  or  some  similar  beneficial 
object  that  would  have  bettered  the  condition  of  his 
people,  was  in  question.  He  signed  orders  on  the 
treasurer  readily  enough  for  secret  service  purposes, 
whose  aims  and  ends,  as  we  know,  were  not  always 
the  most  useful  or  praiseworthy. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Madame,  La  Duchesse. — The  Promenade  de  Longchamps. — La 
Duchesse,  in  Court  Dress. — Complimentary  Fireworks. — The 
Jesuit,  de  Sacy. — Give  Satan  his  Due.— An  Angry  Woman's 
Letter.— "Je  le  Veux."— A  Perfect  Picture  of  Flora.— The 
Queen's  Toilettes. — I  pray  you.  Sing  me  a  Song. — Grand  Tri- 
umphal Air. — A  very  Great  Lady. — Alexandrine  d'^tioles. — 
Death  of  Alexandrine. — Le  Comte  de  Kaunitz-Rietberg. — 
D^sagrements  of  the  Chase. — A  Martyr  to  Duty. — Kaunitz  at 
Versailles. — An  Ally  of  Voltaire. 

"  His  majesty  has  presented  me  with  six  beautiful 
Arabian  horses,"  wrote  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  the 
Comtesse  de  Noailles. 

These  six  Arab  steeds  were  to  have  the  honor  of 
drawing  a  handsome  new  coach,  of  which  Martin, 
coachbuilder  to  the  court,  was  then  superintending 
the  completion.  Many  persons  sought  permission  to 
examine  this  latest  specimen  of  Martin's  known  skill; 
and  of  those  who  obtained  it,  the  greater  part  went 
their  way  filled  with  envy  or  indignation. 

"  I  have  expressly  ordered,"  Madame  de  Pompadour 
tells  the  countess,  "  that  my  coach  may  not  be  disfig- 
ured by  any  of  those  scenes  of  gallantry  with  which 
it  is  now  the  fashion  to  decorate  the  panels.  It  is  a 
fashion  I  dislike.     It  is  offensive  to  good  taste." 

The  king  had  recently,  on  the  fete  de  St.  Jean — the 
fete  day  of  the  marquise — raised  her  to  the  rank  of 
duchesse.     Hence  the  need  of  this  new  equipage,  an4 


3/2  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

a  change  in  her  arms;  which,  from  her  own  designs, 
were  elaborately  emblazoned  on  the  panels  of  her  car- 
riage, instead  of  the  fashionable  semes  ci,  la  Boucher. 
Some  of  the  carriages  of  that  day  were  really  very 
beautifully  painted  with  mythological  or  pastoral  sub- 
jects. It  was  a  caprice  that  for  a  time  almost  super- 
seded the  labors  of  the  herald  painter;  notwithstand- 
ing the  prevailing  fondness  for  the  prominent  display 
of  highly  wrought  armorial  bearings. 

The  coachmaker's  art  had  progressed  considerably 
during  the  last  few  years.  The  carriages  were  less 
capacious  and  cumbrous;  also  easier,  lighter,  and  bet- 
ter slung. 

This  had  been  especially  noticed  at  the  last  Holy 
Week  promenade  of  Longchamps,  whither  the  beau 
monde  continued  to  flock.  An  order  of  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris,  in  consequence  of  an  accident  to  Madame 
de  Flavacourt's  carriage,  through  the  pressure  of  the 
crowd,  had  closed  the  Abbaye  doors  during  the  cele- 
bra-tion  of  the  grand  musical  "  Office  des  T^nlbres'\  The 
religious  object  of  this  annual  promenade,  originating 
with  the  Orleans  family,  was  therefore  at  an  end.  The 
promenade,  however,  survived  as  a  yearly  rival  display 
of  luxury  and  extravagance,  both  in  toilette  and  equi- 
page. The  name  of  the  fortunate  person  who  gen- 
erally was  considered  to  have  surpassed  all  others, 
and  to  have  won  the  grand  prize  in  this  praiseworthy 
contest,  was  at  that  period  usually  proclaimed. 

The  new  carriage,  with  the  six  fiery  Arabs  gaily 
caparisoned,  would  doubtless  have  borne  off  the  bell. 
But  this  was  not  the  sort  of  triumph  our  new  duchess 
looked  forward  to,  or  indeed  would  have  cared  for. 
She  was  too  prudent,  by  far,  to  seek  publicly  so  trivial 
p.  distinction,     The  real  arbiter  of  taste,  and  the  glass 


THE  tHJCHESSE  IN  II ER   COURT  DRESS.     373 

of  fashion,  we  know  she  then  was.  We  are  reminded 
of  it,  as  we,  of  these  degenerate  days,  stroll  up  Regent 
Street  and  sorrowfully  gaze  on  the  dreary  exhibition 
of  painted  and  glazed  cottons,  ticketed  with  her  name; 
wretched  imitations  of  the  richly  brocaded  Pom- 
padour silks.  The  charming  bouquets,  and  knotted 
garlands  of  flowers  were  either  designed  by  herself,  or 
were  the  productions  of  Boucher's  fanciful  pencil. 
He  was  inimitable  in  creations  of  that  kind;  and  as 
inimitably  were  they  reproduced  by  the  looms  of  Lyons. 

Boucher  painted  the  duchesse  in  her  court  dress 
— that  splendid  toilette  and  tasteful  combination  of 
satin,  embroidery,  laces,  and  flowers,  in  which  she 
was  presented  anew  to  the  queen.  It  was  on  her 
elevation  to  the  much  envied  distinction  of  the  tabou- 
ret, or  right  of  being  seated  in  the  presence  of,  and 
near  to,  royalty — and  being  kissed  on  the  forehead  by 
the  princes  and  princesses  of  the  blood.  The  dauphin 
is  said  to  have  performed  his  part  of  that  ceremony 
with  very  ill  grace — by  no  means  d  la  Richelieu;  or 
with  that  air  of  gallantry  towards  k  beau  sexe,  so 
characteristic  of  his  royal  father,  and  which  had  won 
him  the  distinctive  appellation  of  "  perfect  French 
gentleman,"  in  addition  to  that  of  "  Le  bien  aimi." 

The  dauphin  had  recently  recovered  from  an  attack 
of  small-pox;  of  a  less  malignant  type  than  was  too 
frequently  the  case  in  those  days.  Yet  it  had  been 
severe  enough  to  raise  fears  for  his  life,  and  to  leave 
its  disfiguring  traces  on  his  countenance.  During  his 
illness,  Madame  de  Pompadour  had  evinced  much 
sympathy  towards  the  young  dauphine  and  the 
queen.  The  danger  being  past,  and  the  convalescence 
of  the  dauphin  publicly  announced,  she  celebrated 
the  event  by  a  fete  with  fireworks.     The  latter  con- 


^^4  ^^^  ^^^  rAgim&. 

sisted  of  an  allegorical  device,  in  which  a  dolphin  was 
represented  gaily  disporting  himself  in  his  native  ele- 
ment, while  around  were  sea-monsters  spitting  forth 
fire  at  him.  The  monsters  were  intended  to  repre- 
sent the  small-pox,  and  other  attacks  of  illness  to 
which  the  dauphin  for  some  years  had  been  subject. 
Gradually  they  disappeared  from  the  piece,  leaving 
the  dolphin  alone  in  his  glory,  diverting  himself  with 
his  sports  and  gambols;  which  typified  restored,  even 
improved,  health — in  spite  of  the  illness  that  had 
threatened  to  undermine  it. 

Perhaps  an  explanation  was  necessary  rightly  to 
understand  this,  for  the  dauphin  interpreted  it  dif- 
ferently. He  saw  in  this  allegory  only  an  insult. 
The  head  of  the  dolphin  he  fancied  a  caricature  like- 
ness of  his  own.  In  the  fire-spitting  monsters,  which 
the  people,  not  seeking  for  a  meaning,  admired  im- 
mensely as  a  spectacle,  he  discerned  an  intimation  to 
them  that  he  was  abhorred  of  all  who  were  about 
him.  That  the  profligate  Louis  XV.  disliked  his 
bigoted  Jesuit  son  was  no  secret,  probably,  to  the 
dauphin  himself.  Yet  Madame  de  Pompadour's 
solicitude  respecting  him,  whether  real  or  affected, 
during  his  illness,  does  not  appear  to  have  displeased 
the  king.  It  was  as  if  in  recompense  for  it,  he,  in 
that  same  year,  created  her  a  duchess.  Her  elevation 
at  the  same  time  to  the  honor  of  the  tabouret — though 
the  pretensions  of  the  Duchesse  de  Luynes  were  set 
aside  by  the  king  in  her  favor — gave  rise,  however,  to 
some  difficulties. 

It  was  necessary  she  should  confess,  partake  of  the 
sacrament,  and  receive  absolution.  The  queen  con- 
sulted with  the  marquise  on  the  subject.  The  learned 
Pere  De  Sacy  also  visited  her,  and  after  a  long  inter- 


GIVE  SATAAT  HIS  DUE.  i»j^ 

view,  during  which  "  he  conversed  with  charming 
grace,"  seemed  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  the/r^j 
outweighed  the  cons,  and  that  it  would  be  possible  to 
absolve  her.  But,  Jesuit-like,  he  would  not  commit 
himself  to  any  positive  decision.  He  would  reflect; 
he  would  consult;  he  would  take  ten  days  or  a  fort- 
night to  make  up  his  mind,  he  said,  insinuatingly — at 
the  same  time  allowing  it  to  be  understood  that  any 
obstacles  he  had  raised,  or  scruples  he  had  suggested 
as  likely  to  be  raised  by  his  Order,  would  disappear 
during  that  interval.  As  it  is  right  that  every  good 
Christian  should  give  even  Satan  his  due,  no  less 
Christian-like  is  it  to  give  the  benefit  of  a  doubt  even 
to  a  Jesuit.  Possibly  then,  just  possibly,  the  good 
father  De  Sacy  may  have  meant  what  he  said;  for  the 
hope  was  held  out  to  him  of  becoming  the  king's  con- 
fessor. But  the  strong  Jesuitical  cabal  of  the  court 
of  the  dauphin  and  the  queen,  could  not  well  have 
been  defied;  influential  as  he  was  with  his  Order,  as 
Procureur  G6n6ral  of  Missions.  At  the  expiration  of 
the  fortnight,  Sacy  wrote  a  long  letter,  of  which  the 
following  is  a  r/sum^: — 

"Madame  la  Marquise, — It  is  impossible  to  grant 
you  the  absolution  you  ask  for.  You  desire,  so  you 
have  told  me,  to  fulfil  the  duties  incumbent  on  every 
good  Christian.  The  highest  of  them  is  to  set  a  good 
example.  To  merit  and  obtain  absolution,  your  first 
step  must  be  to  become  reunited  to  M.  d'Etioles;  or 
at  least  to  quit  the  court — thus  edifying  your  neigh- 
bor, who  declares  himself  scandalized  by  the  favor 
shown  you  by  the  king,  and  your  separation  from 
your  husband." 

On  the  back  of  the  letter  (returned  immediately), 
she  is  said  to  have  written  as  follows: — 


^^6  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

"Mon  P^re, — You  are  a  true  Jesuit.  You  under- 
stand me,  no  doubt,  when  I  tell  you  so.  How  you 
enjoyed  the  embarrassment  and  need  you  imagined 
you  found  me  in  !  I  know,  of  course,  that  it  would 
gratify  you  much  to  have  me  leave  the  court,  and  that 
you  think  me  weak  and  tottering.  But,  know  this. 
I  am  as  powerful  here  as  you  are,  and  in  spite  of  all 
the  Jesuits  in  the  world,  here  I  will  remain. 

"  La  Marquise  de  Pompadour, 

'■*  Dafne  du  Palais  de  la  Reine." 

It  is  an  angry  woman's  letter,  written  on  the  spur 
of  the  moment.  Reflection  would  probably  have  pro- 
duced a  more  dignified  reply,  and  one  that  should 
have  been  more  cutting  and  annoying  to  the  Jesuit. 
But  the  expulsion  of  the  Jesuits  from  France  was 
from  that  time  determined  upon,  and  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour and  their  persistent  enemy,  M.  de  Choiseul, 
rested  not  until  they  had  accomplished  their  object. 
All  difficulties  respecting  the  tabouret  vig.vq.  immediately 
overcome.  Madame  de  Pompadour  was  judicially  sep- 
arated from  her  husband.  M.  d'Etioles,  weary  of  exile, 
had  some  time  before  solicited  and  obtained  permis- 
sion to  return  to  France.  He  had  even  been  so  want- 
ing in  self-respect  as  to  accept  a  lucrative  post  offered 
him  by  the  king;  though  his  circumstances  were  afflu- 
ent, and  his  daughter  was  provided  for  by  her  mother. 

The  "/(?  le  veux"  of  Louis  had  doubtless  smoothed 
the  upward  path  of  Madame  de  Pompadour's  ambi- 
tion. No  obstacles  would  have  confronted  her  had 
she  been  a  great  lady  like,  for  instance,  the  insolent 
De  Montespan,  whose  haughty  airs  so  intimidated  the 
poor  little  Spanish  wife  of  the  magnificent  Louis  XIV. 
Marie  Therese,  indeed,  be^an  to  doubt  whether  she 


A   PERFECT  PICTURE   OF  FLORA,  37; 

were  really  the  queen,  and  shrank  from  the  overpower- 
ing presence  of  that  "splendid  creature,"  her  rival,  to 
the  seclusion  of  her  oratory,  to  weep  and  to  pray.  The 
Grand Monar que  and  his  Montespan,  meanwhile,  went 
through  their  devotions  in  public — side  by  side.  Thus, 
edifying  all  beholders,  and  setting  them  a  fine  exam- 
ple; which,  on  the  authority  of  a  Jesuit,  is  the  very 
head  and  front  of  Christian  duty. 

Once  indeed,  a  poor  creature  of  a  cur^  did  venture  to 
refuse  absolution  to  Jupiter's  grande-mattresse.  "  Had 
the  earth  opened  beneath  him,"  as  some  people  say, 
the  great  king  could  not  have  been  more  astounded. 
He  was  absolutely  thunderstruck  at  the  presumption 
of  this  insect  of  a  priest.  And  it  is  probable  that  the 
poor  man  would  have  been  ^^  embastilU"  for  the  term 
of  his  natural  life,  had  not  his  lucky  stars  happened 
to  be  in  the  ascendant,  while  the  favor  of  the  haughty 
marquise  was  on  the  wane.  It  was  at  the  time  when 
the  pious  and  unselfish  Madame  de  Maintenon  was 
working  heart  and  soul  to  achieve  that  great  work, 
the  salvation  of  the  Grand  Monarque. 

In  the  present  instance,  there  is  no  question  of  pun- 
ishing, or  treating  with  contempt  a  poor  parish  priest 
with  a  scrupulous  conscience.  It  is  a  great  man  among 
the  Society  of  Jesus  (what  a  misnomer  !)  who  has  pre- 
sumed to  offend  a  king's  favorite,  and  the  society, 
en  ntasse,  shall  feel  her  resentment.  She,  however, 
seeks  as  she  always  does,  to  propitiate  Marie  Lec- 
zinska  and  the  princesses;  and  on  the  morning  after 
her  triumph  appears  before  the  queen  carrying  a 
basket  of  choice  flowers,  just  received  from  her  con- 
servatories at  Belle-vue.  It  is  a  present  to  the  queen 
for  the  decoration  of  her  apartments.  Very  charming 
the   duchesse   looks   in   her  white   muslin  negligee — a 


37S  ^^-^  OLD  MO/ME. 

perfect  picture  of  Flora,  that  Boucher  or  Fragonard 
would  have  loved  to  paint.  The  deep  lace  on  her 
sleeves  is  looped  back  to  the  elbow  with  velvet  ro- 
settes, displaying  the  beauty  of  her  arms,  as  they 
encircle  her  basket  of  flowers. 

At  no  time  was  Marie  Leczinska  remarkable  for 
tasteful  toilettes.  When  the  becoming  Polish  fashions 
had  had  their  day,  she  adopted  whatever  the  taste  and 
fancy  of  the  reigning  belles  of  the  court  brought  into 
favor.  Of  late  years  she  had  very  injudiciously  either 
discarded  or  been  wholly  indifferent  to  that  orna- 
mental setting  which  every  woman  needs,  though  she 
be  a  gem  of  purest  ray.  The  queen  had  allowed  her- 
self to  sink  into  the  frumpy  old  woman,  and  with  her 
snuff-box  beside  her — for  she  often  applied  to  it — and 
wrapped  up  in  her  sad-colored  polonaise,  and  with  a 
coiffe  on  her  head,  looked  ten  years  older  than  she  was. 
Now  and  then,  when  she  went  to  the  entertainments 
of  t\iQ  petils-appartements — as  her  confessor  occasionally 
allowed — to  hear  Madame  de  Pompadour  sing,  she 
put  herself  into  the  hands  of  her  tiring-women,  who 
usually  dressed  her  very  much  as  they  pleased,  which 
was  not  always  the  most  becomingly. 

It  is  so  long  since  she  voluntarily  abdicated  her 
rightful  position  at  court,  that  she  is  not  very  accessi- 
ble to  jealous  pangs.  Yet  something  of  that  sort 
crosses  her  mind  when  Madame  de  Pompadour 
enters.  As  she  is  about  to  set  down  her  basket,  the 
queen  steps  forward  and  prevents  her.  "  She  looks 
so  charming  with  her  basket  of  flowers,"  she  tells  her, 
"that  she  must  not  be  relieved  of  it  until  she  has 
sung"  (of  course,  in  the  character  of  a  coquettish 
village  maid)  "  some  appropriate  song — one  of  those 
pretty  chansons  she  has   heard  her  sing  in  the  *  Devin 


GRA}^r>   TRIUMPHAL  AIR.  37^ 

du  Village,*  or  other  musical  piece."  Two  or  three 
persons  of  the  queen's  intimate  circle  are  with  her  in 
her  chamber.  They  smile,  as  if  anticipating  some 
amusement. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  prays  to  be  excused.  She 
discerns  an  intention  to  disparage  her;  to  show  her 
off  as  a  silly,  vain  woman,  eager  for  admiration,  and 
at  whose  expense  the  queen  may  afford  her  friends  a 
little  diversion.  Marie  Leczinska  persists  in  her  re- 
quest. Again  she  is  entreated  not  to  urge  it — for 
etiquette  forbids  a  positive  refusal  to  comply  with  the 
royal  command.  But  the  queen  is  bent  on  making 
her  rival  act  and  sing — on  making  her  ridiculous,  in 
fact.  And  Madame  de  Pompadour,  compelled  to  sing 
against  her  will,  is  bent  on  having  her  revenge. 

She  perceives  there  is  a  harpsichord  in  the  room.* 
Placinjr  her  basket  of  flowers  on  the  table,  before  the 
queen  can  prevent  her,  Madame  de  Pompadour  sits 
down  to  the  instrument,  and,  instead  of  the  chanson- 
netie  she  has  been  asked  for,  favors  the  queen  and  her 
friends  with  her  grand  triumphal  air,  "At  last  'tis  in 
my  power,"  from  Lulli's  "  Armida,"  allowing  them  to 
make  whatever  application  of  the  words  they  pleased; 
and  it  appears  they  made  the  right  one.  Her  musical 
education  had  been  perfect,  and  her  singing  of  this 
grand  air  was  a  tour  de  force^  of  which  very  few  who 
were  not  professional  singers  were  capable.  The 
queen  had  heard  her  sing  it  before — never,  perhaps, 
with  the  same  apparent  exultant  joy  as  on  the  oc- 
casion referred  to.     Poor  Marie  Leczinska! 

*  Young  Beaumarchais — then  only  twenty,  gigantic  in  stature, 
and  remarkably  handsome — had  just  been  appointed  by  the  king 
to  teach  music  to  the  three  princesses — of  course,  in  the  queen's 
apartments. 


3^0  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

All  the  prerogatives  of  a  princess  of  a  sovereign 
house  were  at  this  time  conferred  by  the  king  on  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour,  and  all  the  pomp  and  parade 
then  deemed  indispensable  to  rank  so  exalted  were 
fully  assumed  by  her.  Except  on  those  occasions 
when  it  was  her  own  good  pleasure  to  seek  relief  in 
the  society  of  a  few  chosen  friends  from  the  weari- 
some etiquette  with  which  she  was  surrounded,  she 
was  approached  with  as  much  ceremony  as  the  king, 
even  by  the  members  of  his  family;  sharing  with  him 
the  homage — and  probably  receiving  the  larger  share 
— paid  by  courtiers  and  foreign  ministers  to  royalty. 

The  first  woman  of  her  bed-chamber  was  "a  young 
lady  of  rank."  Her  chamberlain  and  first  equerry 
were  men  of  rank.  A  Chevalier  of  the  Order  of  Le 
St.  Esprit  bore  her  train.  Collin,  one  of  the  pro- 
cureurs  or  attorneys  of  the  Chatelet,  was  her  steward, 
and  was  decorated  expressly  for  that  office,  when 
placed  over  her  household  at  the  Hotel  d'Evreux 
(Elysee  Bourbon).  The  Marquis  de  Marigny  was 
appointed  secretary  of  the  Order  of  Le  St.  Esprit, 
which  conferred  on  him  an  exceptional  cordon  bleu^ 
without  proofs  of  nobility. 

A  handsome  pension  was  given  to  her  father;  but  he 
was  required  to  reside  at  not  less  than  forty  leagues' 
distance  from  Paris,  as  his  presence  at  court  would 
have  been  rather  embarrassing.  He  took  up  his  abode 
in  a  pleasant  part  of  Champagne,  where  he  seems  to 
have  enjoyed  life  exceedingly,  after  the  ups  and  downs 
of  his  earlier  days,  and  his  narrow  escape  from  being 
hanged.  Her  mother  had  died  in  1749,  at  about  the 
same  time  as  the  "sublime  Emilie,"  when  condolences 
were  exchanged  between  Madame  de  Pompadour  and 
Voltaire — Voltaire,  of  course,  pouring  forth  his  sor- 


DEATH  OF  ALEXANDRINE.  38 1 

row  and  sympathy  in  rhymes.  Her  daughter  yet  re- 
mained to  her.  Alexandrine  d'Etioles  was  then  be- 
tween nine  and  ten  years  of  age;  a  remarkably  in- 
telligent child;  carefully  educated,  and  giving  promise 
of  great  musical  talent. 

Marmontel  said  of  the  young  daughter  of  his  pa- 
troness, "That  she  was  the  most  spirituelU  child  in 
France."  He  was  accustomed  to  read  his  famous 
tales,  "Contes  de  Marmontel,"  to  the  mother  and 
daughter.  While  doing  so,  he  assumed,  it  appears,  a 
certain  air  of  effeminate  affectation — perhaps  thinking 
to  impart  further  interest  to  them.  The  young  lady 
observed  this,  and  remarked,  sententiously,  that  "  M. 
Marmontel,  when  he  was  reading,  had  too  much  the 
air  of  a  marquise."  This  was  repeated  to  Marmontel, 
and  longer  than  usual  he  absented  himself  from  the 
toilette  of  the  duchesse.  When  she  inquired  the  rea- 
son— for  she  was  much  interested  in  her  protig^^  who, 
but  for  her  encouragement,  would  have  given  up 
literature — he  replied,  "  That  really  he  was  as  much 
afraid  of  Mdlle.  Alexandrine's  epigrams  as  of  Piron's." 
This  was,  of  course,  said  jestingly,  but  it  shows  that 
there  was  piquancy  enough  in  the  child's  remark  to 
annoy  him. 

Madame  de  Pompadour  had  already  cast  her  eyes 
on  the  young  Due  de  Fronsac,  De  Richelieu's  only 
son,  as  a  suitable  parti  for  her  daughter.  The  king 
approved,  and  mentioned  it  to  De  Richelieu,  who  re- 
plied, "  Sire,  it  would  be  necessary  first  to  obtain  the 
consent  of  the  family  of  Lorraine."  However,  the 
poor  child  died  in  her  twelfth  year,  in  the  convent  of 
the  Assumption,  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore.  Her  death 
was  probably  the  greatest  blow  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour ever  experienced  in  her  affections.     For  one 


382  THE   OLD  REGIME, 

may  believe  that  she  loved  power,  and  loved  it  to  ex- 
cess, yet  decline  to  give  entire  credence  to  such  a 
writer  as  Soulavie,  who,  in  his  untrustworthy  "  Me- 
moirs," represents  her  as  bereft  of  all  feeling,  and  a 
callous,  hard-hearted  monster.  Her  ambitious  views 
had  included,  no  doubt,  an  advantageous  marriage 
for  her  daughter.  Most  mothers  have  similar  aspira- 
tions. 

A  project  is  said  to  have  been  on  the  carpet,  at  the 
time  of  the  child's  death,  for  a  marriage  with  a  scion 
of  the  house  of  Nassau.  And  it  is  not  unlikely.  Al- 
ready the  wily,  Jesuitical  empress,  Marie  Therese, 
who,  through  her  effeminate  ambassador.  Count  Ven- 
ceslaus  de  Kaunitz,  was  kept  well  informed  of  all  that 
took  place  at  the  court  of  Versailles,  had  saluted  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour  as  "my  good  cousin."  Kaunitz 
prepared  the  way  for  Stahremberg.  He  had  signed 
for  Austria  the  Treaty  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  after- 
wards remained  as  ambassador  to  play  the  agreeable, 
when  at  Versailles,  both  to  the  king  and  Madame  de 
Pompadour.  In  Paris  he  resided  at  the  Palais  Bour- 
bon, and  frequented  assiduously  the  receptions  of 
the  Marquis  de  Marigny,  and  of  the  Due  de  Choiseul, 
then  appointed  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs. 

M.  de  Kaunitz,  notwithstanding  his  reputation  as 
an  able  diplomatist,  was  as  much  occupied  with  the 
cares  of  the  toilette,  with  the  preservation  of  the 
smoothness  of  his  complexion,  and  the  delicate  white- 
ness of  his  hands,  as  any  effeminate  petit-maitre  of  the 
salons^  or  even  as  the  rose-leaf-tinted  beauties  of  the 
court.  The  count  was,  as  the  French  say,  "still 
young;"  or,  more  poetically,  "  the  last  rays  of  youth" 
still  lingered  about  him.  He  had  reached  his  fortieth 
year — a  period  of  life  less  terrible  to  men  than  to  wo- 


DlSAGREMENTS  OF   THE  CHASE.  383 

men.  His  manners  were  courtly,  and  he  had,  there- 
fore, found  favor  with  the  king,  who  was  extremely 
sensitive  on  that  point.  Roughness  of  character  was 
far  more  offensive  to  him  than  were  vicious  principles, 
— he  shrank  from  those  in  whose  demeanor  he  seemed 
to  detect  it. 

So  devoted  to  the  chase  himself,  Louis  XV.  im- 
agined that  no  one  could  be  otherwise  than  delighted 
by  an  invitation  to  join  the  royal  hunt.  But  alas  for 
poor  Kaunitz!  while  striving  to  appear  enraptured 
with  the  sport,  he  was  suffering  agonies.  Too  much 
wind,  too  much  sun — either  would  be  fatal  to  his 
complexion,  and  often  there  was  too  much  of  both. 
Fastidious  ladies  might  have  screened  themselves 
with  mask  or  veil  from  the  attacks  of  bright  Phoebus 
or  rude  Boreas.  But  in  presence  of  a  bevy  of  beau- 
ties— amongst  whom  were  the  dauphine  (a  famous 
huntress),  Madame  Adelaide  (the  king's  eldest  daugh- 
ter), and  Madame  de  Pompadour;  all  in  hunting 
dress,  and,  regardless  of  their  complexions,  wearing 
little  feather- trimmed  chapeauxd.  tricornes — the  count 
was  compelled  to  appear  as  reckless  of  exposure  as 
they  were,  lest,  in  screening  himself  from  the  weather, 
he  should  expose  himself  to  ridicule.  It  would  have 
been  like  falling  into  Charybdis  in  attempting  to 
avoid  Scylla. 

He  had  invented  a  sort  of  paste  which,  put,  soft,  on 
the  hands  at  night,  adhered  as  it  hardened,  and  re- 
mained firm  till  the  morning.  When  removed,  the 
fairest  lady  in  the  land  might  have  envied  the  lily 
whiteness  of  the  count's  beautiful  hands.  He  had  as 
many  rules  for  the  preservation  of  his  health  as  his 
beauty ;  and  greatly  it  grieved  his  righteous  spirit  to 
depart  from  them.     So  that,  what  with  his  decorative 


384  ^-^^   ^^^  REGIME. 

art  and  his  hygienic  system,  he  may  be  said  to  have 
been  a  martyr  to  duty — his  duty,  as  a  diplomatist,  to 
his  sovereign  and  his  country.  Duty  alone  would  have 
drawn  him  from  his  cosey  apartment  in  the  Palais 
Bourbon,  and  his  luxurious  private  boudoir;  where,  at 
his  ease,  in  an  elegant  robe  de  chambre  that  the  Due  de 
Gevres  might  have  envied,  he  penned  long  despatches, 
minutely  descriptive  of  all  that  was  passing  around 
him,  whether  political  or  social. 

Kaunitz  was  a  keen  observer.  Grimm  charged 
him  with  extreme  frivolity;  and  the  effeminacy  he 
affected  justified  the  charge.  But  Marie  Therese  put 
much  confidence  in  him  for  the  carrying  out  of  her 
views.  He  had  been  intended  for  the  Church,  but 
preferred  diplomacy  to  fasting  and  praying.  His 
advancement  had  been  rapid;  for  at  the  age  of  forty 
he  was  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  most  important  of 
European  embassies.  The  ambassadors'  quarters  at 
Versailles  did  not  quite  suit  his  habits;  but  he  was 
not  averse  to  the  dinners  and  amusements  of  the 
petits-appartements.  Attending  the  toilette  of  Madame 
de  Pompadour  was  a  far  more  interesting  pastime  to 
him  than  that  of  witnessing  the  mysteries  of  the  petti 
lever  of  Louis  XV.  He,  however,  contrived  to  per- 
form both  those  duties  with,  as  was  said,  "infinite 
grace." 

He  kept  the  devout  Marie  Therese  au  coiirant  of  all 
that  was  said,  done,  and  suspected  at  that  favorite 
abode  of  royalty;  for  she  liked  a  dish  of  court  scan- 
dal no  less  than  did  Louis  XV.  himself.  The  count 
was  fond  of  Parisian  life,  and  was  supposed  to  be 
deeply  tinged  with  the  prevailing  philosophism.  He 
was  a  frequenter  of  the  salons,  and  especially  of  that 
favorite  resort  of  the  ambassadors,  where  the  whole 


AN  ALLY  OF  VOLTAIRE.  385 

of  Europe  was  often  represented — the  salon  of  Ma- 
dame Gcoffrin. 

When  Madame  de  Pompadour  sojourned  for  awhile 
at  her  Hotel  d'Evreux,  the  Comte  de  Kaunitz  was  inva- 
riably present  at  her  private  receptions.  While  play- 
ing the  part  of  a  frivolous  man  of  pleasure,  he  learned 
to  estimate  fully  the  energetic  character,  great  attain- 
ments, and  natural  abilities  of  the  mistress  of  the 
weak  and  incompetent  Louis  XV.  In  sharing  the 
Due  de  Choiseul's  opinion,  that  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour possessed  many  of  the  essential  qualities  of  an 
able  minister  of  State,  as  well  as  great  aptitude  for 
diplomatic  negotiation,  the  count  impressed  the  same 
view  of  her  character  and  abilities  on  the  mind  of  his 
sovereign.  Taking  advantage  of  this,  in  a  way  that 
the  empress  well  knew  would  prove  most  flattering 
to  the  amour-propre  of  such  a  woman,  she  began  the 
famous  correspondence  which  won  over  to  her  cause 
the  great  influence  of  la  maitresse-en-titre ;  made  France 
the  ally  of  Austria,  and  paved  the  way  to  the  Seven 
Years'  War. 

But  diplomacy  and  the  cares  of  the  toilette  did  not 
wholly  engross  the  time  and  thoughts  of  the  ambas- 
sador. He  was  a  frequenter  of  the  theatres ;  was 
intimate  with  Voltaire,  and  a  great  admirer  of  his 
genius.  To  Madame  de  Pompadour  he  significantly 
expressed  his  regret  that  prejudice  on  one  side  and 
fanaticism  on  the  other  should  at  that  critical  mo- 
ment deprive  the  court  of  France  of  the  aid  of  Vol- 
taire's powerful  pen. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Cr6billon  and  Voltaire. — Voltaire  and  the  Court. — Cr6billon  at 
the  Toilette. — Rising  and  Setting  Stars. — Adieu,  La  Belle 
France.  —  Clerical  and  other  Cabals. — Lekain's  D6but. — 
Voltaire's  Pupil,  at  Sceaux. — "  Heavens!  how  Ugly  he  is  !" — A 
Stage-struck  Painter. — An  Unfortunate  Debutant. — Belcourt 
invited  to  Paris. — Advice  to  a  Young  Actor. — Lekain  in  De- 
spair.— Lekain  at  Versailles. — A  Discourteous  Greeting. — A 
Triumph  for  Lekain. — A  Reform  in  Costume. — Clairon's 
Grande  R6v6rence. — Clairon  and  Marmontel. — A  Vexatious 
Contretemps. 

The  fast-waning  popularity  of  Crebillon  experienced 
a  temporary  revival  through  the  success  of  his  tragedy 
of  "Catalina."  It  was,  however,  a  success  more  forced 
than  real;  got  up  by  his  friends,  with  Piron  and  other 
enemies  of  Voltaire  at  their  head,  and  rather  for  the 
sake  of  annoying  the  latter  than  serving  the  former. 
For  Voltaire,  though  so  immensely  superior  in  talent, 
and  his  fame  European,  was  not  proof  against  the 
shafts  of  envious  mediocrity.  He  was  easily  roused 
to  jealousy  of  even  so  poor  a  rival  as  the  aged  Cre- 
billon. 

Crebillon,  it  is  true,  had,  on  this  occasion,  succeeded 
where  Voltaire,  with  all  his  advantages,  and  his 
audacity  to  boot,  had  failed.  Notwithstanding  that 
he  was  no  frequenter  of  the  salons^  but  a  lounger  of 
the  taverns,  a  dweller  among  the  poor,  in  a  humble 
house  in  the  Marais — with  his  pipe  and  his  dogs  for 
companions — Crebillon  had  been  well  received  by  the 


VOLTAIRE  AND    THE   COURT,  387 

king.  Louis  had  even  condescended  to  ask  him  to 
read  a  scene  of  his  "  Catalina,"  and  declared  himself 
edified  by  it.  "  Cr^billon,"  he  said,  *'  b.as  far  more 
genius  than  Voltaire.  He  is  a  second  Racine."  The 
courtiers  echoed  these  words,  and  the  echo  reached 
the  ears  of  Voltaire.  Momentarily  Cr6billon  became 
the  fashion,  and,  better  still  for  the  needy  poet,  the 
king  gave  him  a  pension.  Permission  to  print  his 
works  at  the  Louvre — "  With  the  approval  and  per- 
mission of  the  king" — was  also  conceded  to  him. 

In  conversation  with  Madame  de  Pompadour,  Vol- 
taire appealed,  as  it  were,  against  this  concession.  He 
thought  it  an  injustice  while  a  similar  privilege  was 
denied  to  his  own  works.  And  she  agreed  with  the 
poet.  For  though  fully  aware  of  his  vanity,  she  ap- 
preciated his  talent,  and  was  amused  by  his  mocking 
spirit.  She  had  been  present  at  the  private  represen- 
tation of  "Rome  Sauv6e" — "Catalina"  under  another 
name,  and  a  rival  production.  It  was  performed  at 
Voltaire's  private  theatre  in  the  Rue  Traversiere — the 
Due  de  Villars  playing  Catalina,  and  Voltaire  Cicero. 
She  had  also  heard  Crebillon  declaim  before  the  king. 
The  old  poet  was  then  in  his  seventy-sixth  year.  His 
hair  was  white  as  snow,  but  abundant;  his  features 
large,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance  sombre 
— at  times,  while  reciting,  almost  menacing.  He  had 
a  deep  sepulchral  voice,  and  much  abruptness  in  his 
gestures;  while  his  rugged  verse  became  harsher  to 
the  ear  by  his  harshness  of  accentuation. 

Louis  XV.  personally  disliked  Voltaire,  and  this 
feeling  was  nourished  by  the  clamor  of  the  court.  He 
was  bored,  too,  by  the  agitated  entreaties  of  poor 
Marie  Leczinska,  to  whom  the  very  name  of  Voltaire 
was  a  bugbear.     Urged  on  by  the  dauphin  and  his 


388  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

Jesuit  surroundings,  she  came  as  a  martyr  to  implore, 
on  her  knees,  that  the  king  would  uphold  the  religion 
of  the  State — menaced,  as  she  was  told,  by  Voltaire's 
return  to  the  court.  Madame  de  Pompadour  could 
not,  then,  under  such  circumstances,  plead  very  warmly 
for  her  friend  Voltaire,  or  suggest  very  earnestly  that 
the  honors  of  the  Louvre  should  be  conceded  to  his 
works.  Her  object  was  to  keep  her  august  sovereign 
amused  and  in  good  humor;  not  to  thwart  him  in 
matters  comparatively  indifferent.  When  Crebillon, 
therefore,  made  his  appearance  at  her  toilette,  to 
offer  his  thanks  for  the  favors  he  had  received  from 
the  king,  she  received  him  very  graciously,  and 
with  many  kind  words.  The  old  poet  prayed  to  be 
allowed  the  honor  of  kissing  her  hand.  The  honor 
was  granted,  and  Voltaire's  jealousy  and  disgust  knew 
no  bounds. 

It  was  wonderful  that  the  strong  opposition  of  the 
priestly  element  to  his  reception  by  the  Academy  had 
been  overcome.  But,  in  return,  it  was  resolutely  de- 
termined to  exclude  him  from  the  court  altogether. 
He  had  no  longer  a  Chateau  de  Cirey  to  flee  to  for 
rest  and  consolation;  nor  did  a  cordial  welcome  await 
him  at  the  Hotel  in  the  He  St.  Louis — for  the  sublime 
Emilie  was  dead.  But  he,  at  least,  was  now  free  to 
wander  whither  he  would;  so  he  turned  his  thoughts 
towards  Prussia.  .Frederick's  invitations  to  Potsdam 
had  for  some  time  past  been  pressing.  The  circle  of 
philosophers  assembled  there  was  incomplete  without 
the  brilliant  writer,  the  patriarch  of  the  sect.  "  Let 
him  come  to  Potsdam;  let  him  make  that  home  of 
free-thinkers  his  abode,"  and  enliven  by  his  presence 
the  suppers  of  Sans-Souci — that  Frederick,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  King  of  Prussia  and  Elector  of  Bran- 


ADIEU.  LA   BELLE   FRANCE.  389 

denburg,  may  add  to  these  titles  the  far  prouder  one 
— "  Possessor  of  Voltaire." 

Yet  Voltaire  showed  no  great  eagerness  to  accept 
this  flattering  invitation,  and  had  he  been  more  gra- 
ciously treated  at  Versailles  might,  perhaps,  have  de- 
clined it.  But  while  wounded  amour-propre  was  still 
smarting  from  the  preference  expressed  by  Louis  XV. 
for  the  plays  of  Cr^billon,  it  received  a  further  stab 
from  some  flattering  expressions  of  the  great  Fred- 
erick addressed  to  the  young  poet  Baculard  d'Ar- 
naud,  who  was  then  at  Berlin.  "Arnaud,"  wrote  the 
king,  in  doggerel  verse — "  Arnaud  is  a  rising,  Voltaire 
a  setting  sun."  Of  course  this  was  soon  on  its  road 
from  Berlin  to  Paris,  and  tarried  not  by  the  way.  It 
was  duly  laid  before  Voltaire,  who,  having  glanced  at 
it,  went  off  into  a  terrible  rage.  "I  will  go!"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  I  will  go  and  teach  this  king  that  Voltaire's 
sun  is  not  yet  set."  He  had  already  bargained  with 
Frederick  for  the  advance  of  the  sum  of  16,000  francs, 
to  defray  his  own  expenses  on  the  journey  and  those 
of  Madame  Denis,  his  niece. 

Louis  XV.  was  then  at  Compiegne,  where  a  camp 
was  forming,  and  where  the  general  officers  were 
amusing  their  sovereign  and  themselves  with  military 
manoeuvres,  fites^  and  grand  banquets.  For  Com- 
piegne Voltaire  set  out  without  loss  of  time.  He  had 
no  thought  of  casting  off  his  allegiance  to  his  rightful 
monarch;  therefore,  though  nominally  only  a  Gentle- 
man of  the  Bed-chamber,  he  solicited  and  received  per- 
mission to  visit  the  court  of  Berlin,  and  to  accept  any 
dignity  the  King  of  Prussia  might  confer  on  him.  At 
Compiegne  he  found  also  M.  von  Raesfeld — an  officer 
in  the  service  of  Frederick — who,  acting  on  orders 
received  from  Potsdam,  had  made  arrangements  for 


390  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

facilitating  the  journey  of  the  poet  and  his  niece  to 
the  Prussian  capital.  Thus  did  Voltaire  bid  an  adieu, 
a  long  adieu,  to  la  belle  France.  But  though  person- 
ally absent,  the  spirit  of  the  mocking  philosopher  still 
hovered  over  her,  and  his  influence  was,  perhaps,  the 
more  deeply  felt. 

Louis  XV.  returned  to  Versailles.  The  busy  life  of 
the  camp  had  amused  him,  and  relieved  him  from  the 
worry  of  domestic  dissensions,  refractory  parliaments, 
squabbles  and  differences  in  the  Church,  which,  no 
foreign  war  being  now  on  hand,  were,  as  usual, 
brought  forward  to  disturb  the  peace  of  the  kingdom. 
They  were  principally  fomented  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris — Christophe  de  Beaumont,  a  man  of  uncon- 
ciliating  spirit,  and  an  ardent  supporter  of  the  Bulle 
Unigenitus — once  more  thrust  into  prominence,  but 
now  unanimously  rejected  by  the  Parliament.  The 
king  interfered — the  Pope,  Benedict  XIV.,  was  ap- 
pealed to.  The  undignified  contention  continued  yet 
for  some  years;  in  the  course  of  which  Louis  was  pre- 
vailed on  by  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  take  the  bold 
Step  of  exiling  the  Archbishop  with  two  or  three  of 
the  most  troublesome  bishops,  supporters  of  his  arbi- 
trary views. 

Cabals  prevailed  also  both  in  the  theatrical  and  mu- 
sical world.  Disputes  ran  high  between  the  partisans 
of  Rameau  and  French  music  and  those  of  Pergolese 
and  Italian  music.  Also  between  those  who  discerned 
an  actor  of  merit  in  the  dibutant  Lekain  and  the  sup- 
porters of  Belcourt,  who  had  been  brought  from  a 
provincial  company  to  oppose  him.  Belcourt  had  a 
handsome  person  and  agreeable  manners,  and  these 
were,  at  that  time — for  he  had  but  little  experience — 
his    chief    recommendations.      They  were    sufficient, 


VOLTAIRE'S  PUPIL  AT  SCEAUX.  391 

however,  to  place  Lekain  at  an  immense  disadvantage 
— his  personal  appearance  being  not  only  unprepos- 
sessing, but  repulsive. 

A  contemporary  writer,  who  thought  favorably  of 
Lekain's  abilities,  describes  him  as  of  low  stature;  his 
legs  thick,  short,  and  rather  bowed.  His  complexion 
red  and  spotted;  mouth  large,  with  thick  lips — the 
tout-ensemble  of  his  countenance  disagreeable,  and  his 
figure  ungainly.  His  voice  was  hard,  grating  to  the 
ear,  and  without  modulation;  and  his  action  was  un- 
couth. His  eyes  were  his  only  redeeming  feature. 
They  were  large,  full  of  fire,  and  most  expressive. 
He,  indeed,  seems  to  have  been  a  striking  instance  of 
the  great  power  of  the  eye's  eloquence.  His  d^but 
at  the  Th^Stre  Frangais  took  place  on  the  14th  Sep- 
tember, 1750,  as  Titus  in  Voltaire's  tragedy  of  "  Bru- 
tus." Lekain  was  then  in  his  twenty-first  year,  and 
fully  conscious  of  his  want  of  every  personal  advan- 
tage. 

The  ordeal  of  his  first  appearance  may  have  been  to 
his  imagination  partly  divested  of  its  terrors  by  the 
success  he  had  achieved  but  ten  days  before  at  the 
Duchesse  du  Maine's  Theatre  at  Sceaux.  He  had 
played  there  Lentulus  in  Voltaire's  rival  play  of 
"  Rome  Sauvee."  The  duchess,  who  in  her  earlier 
days  had  been  considered  a  good  actress,  and  whose 
chateau  continued  to  resemble  a  theatre  more  than  a 
royal  lady's  private  residence,  was  most  favorably  im- 
pressed by  the  young  man's  acting.  He  was  a  stran- 
ger to  her;  introduced  at  her  theatre  by  Voltaire,  to 
take  a  part  on  that  occasion  in  his  tragedy. 

"  Who  is  that  young  actor  ?"  she  inquired  of  the  poet. 

"  Madame,"  he  replied,  "  he  is  the  first  of  all  actors — 
Lekain." 


39:2  "i^HE   OLD  REGIME. 

She  had  heard  before  of  Voltaire's  talented  protdgS 
anci  pupil.  Having  seen  him  act,  she  agreed  with  the 
poet  that  "  Lekain  is  to  play"  would  one  day  be  an 
announcement  that  should  fill  any  theatre,  whether  in 
or  out  of  France,  and,  she  added,  "in  spite  of  his 
ugliness."  But  Voltaire  could  not,  or  would  not,  see 
that.  "  The  tragic  soul "  and  the  latent  talent  which 
exfperience  was  to  develop  were  alone  visible  to  him. 
Lekain  had  gained  a  warm  partisan  in  the  energetic 
and  still  romantic  old  duchess.  But  her  partisanship 
availed  him  little.  He  had  to  conquer  his  position 
by  courage  and  patience.  His  d^but  was  the  occasion 
of  a  tumultuous  scene.  The  theatre,  the  balcony,  and 
the  boxes  rejected  him ;  "  the  men  of  rank  and 
women  of  fashion"  would  not  look  at  him,  or  rather, 
having  looked,  turned  away  their  heads,  exclaiming, 
"Heavens,  how  ugly  he  is!"  and  would  look  no  more. 

But  the  critics  of  the  pit  were  more  merciful  and 
far  more  just.  Scrambling  with  all  their  might  to 
get  nearer  the  stage  (the  pit  at  that  period  was  with- 
out seats),  and  vociferating  that  they  "  wanted  to  hear" 
— when  the  laughter  and  hisses  and  exclamations  of 
the  boxes  made  the  actor  inaudible — they  cheered 
him  on  by  their  plaudits.  One  far-seeing  individual, 
bolder  than  the  rest,  exclaimed,  "  This  man  will  be 
the  greatest  of  the  royal  comedians!" — a  prediction  re- 
ceived with  peals  of  laughter  by  the  party  of  the  up- 
per regions,  and  with  noisy  demonstrations  of  ap- 
proval by  the  pit.  It  needed,  indeed,  a  degree  of  con- 
fidence and  perseverance  possessed  by  few  to  face  the 
determined  opposition  the  young  actor  met  with  for 
near  a  year  and  a  half  before  he  was  received  as  socie- 
taire. 

Belcourt,  at  this  time,  was  performing  at  Bordeaux. 


A   STAGE-STRVCK  PAINTER.  393 

He  had  no  idea  of  so  soon  venturing  an  appearance 
in  Paris,  when  he  was  called  upon  by  the  cabal  of  the 
beau  mondc  to  make  his  debut  at  the  Theatre  Fran^ais,  as 
a  rival  to  Lekain.  Both  these  actors — they  were  about 
the  same  age — had  taken  to  the  stage  contrary  to  the 
wishes  of  their  families  and  the  earnest  advice  of 
friends.  Both  were  well  educated.  Lekain  was  the 
son  of  a  jeweller  in  good  circumstances,  and  Bel- 
court's  father  was  the  portrait-painter  Gilles  Colson. 
On  leaving  the  college  of  Toulouse  he  was  placed,  as 
pupil,  with  Carle  Vanloo,  and  it  was  after  the  frequent 
performance  of  a  part  in  the  little  comedies  with 
which  the  fashionable  painter  sometimes  amused  his 
friends  that  young  Colson  discovered,  as  he  believed, 
that  his  vocation  was  acting,  not  painting. 

Nothing  could  turn  him  from  this  fancy.  He  neg- 
lected the  lessons  of  his  master,  and  got  many  a 
scolding  for  doing  ill,  or  not  doing  at  all,  the  work 
assigned  him  in  the  studio.  But  Colson  was  study- 
ing a  part,  Neristan,  in  which  he  expected,  at  one 
bound,  to  reach  the  Temple  of  Fame.  Being  reproved 
by  his  father,  he  decamped.  By  some  means  he 
reached  Besangon,  where  he  met  Preville,  afterwards 
so  famous.  Under  the  name  of  Belcourt,  which  he 
retained  as  a  nom  de  th^dtre^  Colson  made  his  dibut. 
His  theatrical  wardrobe  consisted  of  a  black  coat,  for 
grand  court  mourning;  a  pair  of  velvet  breeches,  that 
had  had  the  honor  of  being  worn  by  Mdlle.  Clairon 
in  a  part  in  which  she  had  assumed  male  attire;  a  bag 
wig,  trimmed  with  black  lace;  and  a  pair  of  shoes 
with  red  heels  and  paste  buckles. 

Neristan  was  to  take  Besangon  by  storm.  But, 
alas  for  his  high  aspirations!  when  the  debutant  ap- 
peared before  the    audience  his   confidence   entirely 


m 


THE  OLD  RtGIMB. 


forsook  him.  He  became  paralyzed  with  fear.  He 
was  a  wel! -grown,  handsome  youth  of  eighteen.  His 
appearance  pleased,  and  he  was  encouraged  by  ap- 
plause. At  last  he  began  his  part,  speaking  scarcely 
above  a  whisper;  but  recovered  his  voice  a  little  as  he 
went  on.  In  the  scene  where  Neristan  throws  himself 
at  the  feet  of  his  lady-love,  Belcourt  had  regained  in 
some  degree  his  composure.  Gracefully  and  ener- 
getically he  fell  on  his  knees,  but,  as  ill-luck  would 
have  it,  an  accident  occurred,  at  that  precise  moment, 
to  the  velvet  garment  that  had  belonged  to  Mdlle. 
Clairon,  who  was  less  robust  than  its  present  wearer. 
The  consequence  was  an  effect  on  the  audience  wholly 
different  from  that  he  had  intended.  The  house  rang 
with  shouts  of  laughter,  and  the  sadly  humbled 
dSutant^  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  confusion,  beat 
a  hasty  retreat. 

Three  years  had  elapsed.  Belcourt  was  at  Bor- 
deaux, where  he  ^\3.yQd  ^Wes  j'eunes  premiers  "  much 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  citizens,  and  was  highly  es- 
teemed for  the  excellence  of  his  private  character. 
The  Due  de  Richelieu  had  seen  him  perform  at  Bor- 
deaux. To  please  the  ladies  who  exclaimed  against 
the  ugliness  of  Lekain,  he  succeeded  in  getting  to- 
gether a  powerful  party  to  induce  the  handsome 
Belcourt  to  visit  Paris,  and,  as  a  rival  to  Lekain,  to 
make  his  dSut  at  the  Frangais.  The  rage  not  only 
for  the  theatre,  but  for  acting,  was  then  so  general 
that,  following  the  example  of  Versailles,  almost  every 
hotel  of  any  pretensions  gave  private  theatricals.  It 
was  at  the  theatre  of  M.  de  Clermont-Tonnerre  that 
Lekain's  talent  was  first  noticed,  and  in  a  play  called 
"  Le  Mauvais  Riche,"  written  by  that  same  Baculard 
d'Arnaud   who,  complimented  by  Frederick,  was  the 


ADVICE   TO  A    YOUNG  ACTOR,  395 

immediate    cause    of    Voltaire's    hasty    journey    to 
Prussia. 

Lekain  had  played  the  principal  part,  and,  as  repre- 
sented by  him,  the  author  was  astonished  at  his  own 
creation.  He  mentioned  the  youthful  actor  to  Vol- 
taire, speaking  of  him  as  a  prodigy.  Voltaire's  curi- 
osity was  roused,  and,  after  seeing  him  in  Arnaud's 
play,  he  sent  for  Lekain.  As  was  his  custom,  he 
received  him  with  extended  arms,  and,  embracing 
him  with  enthusiasm,  exclaimed,  "  Thank  Heaven  for 
creating  a  being  capable  of  exciting  in  me  the  deep 
and  tender  emotions  I  experienced  while  listening  to 
such  miserable  trash  as  Arnaud's  verses  !"  He  advised 
the  young  man  to  cultivate  his  talent  for  his  own 
pleasure  and  recreation,  but  to  avoid  the  stage  as  a 
profession.  "  It  is  a  noble  one,"  he  said;  "but  here, 
in  France,  hypocrites  have  branded  it  with  disgrace." 
But  Lekain  heeded  not  this  advice;  like  Belcourt,  he 
was  convinced  that  his  vocation  was  acting.  Voltaire 
probably  had  the  same  conviction,  for  forthwith  he 
took  Lekain  under  his  protection,  and  instructed  him 
at  his  private  theatre  in  the  principal  roles  of  his  own 
tragedies. 

Voltaire  was  not  present  at  the  ddbuts.  The  strong 
feeling  of  the  court  against  him  may  have  increased 
the  opposition  to  his  portegi.  Belcourt  appeared  first 
as  Achille  in  "  Iphig6nie  en  Aulide,"  and  as  Leandre 
in  "  Le  Babillard."  Notwithstanding  the  admiration 
of  the  ladies  for  "  such  a  handsome  man,"  the  critics 
of  the  pit  pronounced  him  inferior  to  Lekain  in  trag- 
edy. The  adverse  cabal  alone  supported  Belcourt, 
while  the  people  crowded  in  to  see  Lekain.  His 
superiority  was  frankly  acknowledged  by  his  rival, 
who  desired  to  return   the   next  day   to   Bordeaux. 


396  THJE  OLr)  MGIM£. 

Those  who  had  brought  him  thence  would  not  hear  of 
it,  and  the  debuts  went  on.  Lekain  played  CEdipus 
with  great  applause,  and  was  received  "on  trial,"  at  a 
yearly  salary  of  1 200  frs.  Belcourt,  who  it  was  thought 
might,  perhaps,  succeed  Grandval,  was  received  for 
"  high  comedy  ;"  but  poor  Lekain,  with  only  his  tragic 
soul  and  his  fine  eyes,  continued  to  meet  with  so  much 
opposition  that,  despairing  to  overcome  it,  he  thought 
of  leaving  France  and  accepting  an  engagement  offered 
him  in  Prussia. 

The  Princess  Robecq,  conjointly  with  Voltaire,  dis- 
suaded him  from  leaving.  He  had  studied  diligently 
during  the  sixteen  months  he  was  kept,  on  trial,  on 
his  forty  pounds  a  year.  With  experience,  the  faults 
that  the  critics  at  first  had  noticed  disappeared,  and 
his  great  talent  became  very  strikingly  developed. 
His  pronunciation  was  perfect,  which  was  not  always 
the  case  with  many  of  the  best  actors  and  actresses  of 
that  day.  But  the  more  his  merits  became  evident, 
the  more  did  envy  and  jealousy  strive  to  disparage 
him.  Yet  even  among  the  actors  there  was  one  (Bel- 
court)  who,  weary  of  the  intrigues  and  cabals  carried 
on  both  in  and  out  of  the  theatre,  called  out  ener- 
getically, "  If  you  are  not  willing  to  receive  him  as 
your  equal,  you  may  certainly  receive  him  as  your 
master." 

Opposition,  at  last,  came  unexpectedly  to  an  end. 
The  actors  were  commanded  to  play  at  Versailles  be- 
fore the  king  and  the  court,  and  Lekain  asked  permis- 
sion of  Grandval  to  take  the  part  of  Orosmane. 

"  My  friend,  you  would  ruin  your  prospects  entire- 
ly," said  Grandval. 

"  I  am  willing  to  risk  that,"  replied  Lekain. 

"Well,  in  that  case  I  consent;  but  bear  in  mind  I 


A   DISCOURTEOUS  GREETING.  397 

warned  you,"  said  Grandval,  perhaps  thinking  he  was 
acting  as  a  friend. 

The  day  so  anxiously  looked  forward  to  by  Lekain 
is  arrived.  King,  queen,  princesses,  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour, courtiers,  and  ladies-in-waiting  are  assembled 
in  the  royal  theatre  of  Versailles.  Many  of  this  goodly 
company  have  not  seen  the  new  actor,  against  whom 
so  pitiless  a  storm  has  been  raging.  This  has  raised 
curiosity,  and  Orosmane's  entrance  is  eagerly  awaited. 
He  appears.  There  is  a  general  movement  of  sur- 
prise. "  Ah  !  how  ugly  he  is  !"  meets  his  ear  (one 
would  have  expected  more  courtesy  from  great  ladies 
of  the  court).  But  he  had  foreseen  this ;  he  is  accus- 
tomed to  be  thus  greeted.  If  he  feels  it  more  than  at 
other  times,  it  is  only  in  increased  determination  to 
conquer. 

As  the  play  proceeds,  and  the  interest  of  the  scene 
is  unfolded,  the  audience  becomes  silent  and  attentive. 
Soon  the  actor  is  forgotten.  Whether  he  is  ugly  or 
handsome  no  one  then  knows.  It  is  in  Orosmane  and 
his  sorrows  they  are  interested,  and  for  whom  the 
tears  are  flowing  from  the  eyes  of  beautiful  women. 
Lekain  has  triumphed  over  prejudice  ;  and  many  of 
those  subdued  fair  ones  who  had  exclaimed  so  eager- 
ly, "Ah  !  how  ugly  he  is  !"  are  now  fam  to  say,  as  on 
several  occasions  was  afterwards  said,  "  Ah  !  how 
handsome  he  is  !" 

Lekain  was  received  as  associate  of  the  Comedie 
Franyaise  as  no  other  actor,  before  or  since,  ever  was 
— by  the  king's  command.  "  He  has  made  me  weep," 
said  Louis  XV.,  "  who  scarcely  know  what  it  is  to 
weep.  I  receive  him."  It  was  vexatious  to  detractors, 
no  doubt  ;  but  submission  was  imperative,  for  his 
majesty  added,  ^'  Je  le  veux' — a  short  and  ready  way 


398  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

he  had  of  settling  vexed  questions,  of  cutting,  as  it 
were,  the  Gordian  knots  of  discussion  :  perhaps  not 
always  with  general  satisfaction  ;  but  in  the  present 
instance  there  were  few  who  did  not  mentally  re- 
spond "Amen"  to  his  dictum.  None  perhaps  rejoiced 
more  in  the  success  of  Lekain  than  the  man  who  had 
been  set  up  by  his  opponents  as  his  rival.  Belcourt 
and  Lekain  were  firm  and  attached  friends  to  the  end 
of  their  career.  They  began  it  together,  and  like  their 
lives  it  had  a  similar  ending. 

The  French  stage  owed  much  to  Lekain.  He  has 
been  called  "  the  restorer  of  costumes,"  and  has  not 
less  deserved  that  of  "  benefactor  of  comedy  and 
comedians."  He  succeeded  in  putting  an  end  to  the 
custom — so  unfavorable  to  the  actor,  so  destructive  of 
scenic  effect — of  allowing  a  portion  of  the  audience 
to  appear  on  the  stage.  A  row  of  seats  was  taken  from 
the  pit  to  accommodate  those  who  had  patronized  the 
scenic  benches.  It  was  a  great  gain  to  the  actors  gen- 
erally— an  immense  one  to  Lekain;  and  it  was  only 
fair  that  he,  to  whom  no  favor  at  all  had  been  shown, 
should  succeed  in  securing  for  himself  a  clear  stage. 
By  degrees — being  seconded  in  all  his  reforms  by 
Mdlle.  Clairon,  Belcourt,  and  one  or  two  others — the 
actors  were  prevailed  on  to  discard  their  red  heels, 
paste  diamonds,  and  court  dress  generally,  for  the 
proper  costume  of  the  character  represented. 

Lekain  is  said  to  have  been  absolutely  hideous  in 
the  dress  and  turban  of  Genghis  Khan.  But  that 
signified  not.  By  his  immense  talent  he  soon  over- 
came the  first  impression.  Had  he  played  it  as  a 
cavalier  of  the  Henry  IV.  period,  or  in  the  grand  cos- 
tume of  the  court  of  Louis  XV.,  the  absurdity  and  his 
ugliness  would  have  been  uppermost  in  the  mind;  but 


CLAIRON'S  GRANDE  RAVERENCE, 


399 


in  turban  and  oriental  dress  Genghis  Khan  alone  was 
thought  of.  To  sink  his  own  personality  was  his  con- 
stant aim.  That  made  him  so  great  an  actor.  He 
loved  his  art,  and  wished  Lekain  to  be  forgotten  in  the 
person  he  represented. 

Is  anybody  old  enough  in  these  days  to  recollect 
Madame  Rachel  ?  If  so,  he  recollects  Ph^dre.  Her 
dress,  in  this  character,  was  a  reproduction  of  the 
classic  robes  in  which  Mdlle.  Clairon — discarding  the 
panier,  the  plumes,  spangles,  and  frippery  that  Phedre 
had  before  appeared  in — made,  it  may  be  said,  a  second 
dSut,  and  received  an  ovation  surpassmg  any  triumph 
she  had  hitherto  known.- 

Mdlle.  Clairon  was  then  about  thirty,  when  a  hand- 
some woman  is  as  a  rose  in  its  fullest  beauty.  She 
was  eminently  the  tragic  muse — not  tender  and 
pathetic  like  Mdlle.  Dumesnil — but  grand,  sublime. 
The  grace  and  dignity  with  which  she  entered  and  re- 
tired, when  on  the  stage,  made  her  sought  after  by  the 
great  ladies  of  the  court;  who  took  lessons  of  her  in 
^Ua  gr a nde  reverence y  The  most  apt  of  her  pupils  is 
said  to  have  been  the  young  Comtesse  d'Egmont, 
Richelieu's  only  daughter,  married  to  an  old  man, 
rich  and  with  numerous  quarterings,  very  gratifying 
to  her  father;  but  she,  poor  girl,  found  an  early  grave, 
the  victim  of  an  absorbing,  romantic  passion  for  a 
younger  and  less  richly  endowed  suitor. 

Mdlle.  Clairon  was  also  accustomed  to  read  with 
Mdlle.  de  Richelieu — receiving  for  each  visit  twenty- 
five  louis  a'or.  The  duke's  carriage  was  always  in 
waiting  to  convey  her  home;  the  duke's  coachman  as 
regularly  receiving  from  the  magnificent  actress  ten 
louis  dor  as  a  pourboire. 

Marmontel  was  at  that  time    the  very  humble  slave 


400  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

of  Mdlle.  Clairon's  caprices.  He  had  lately  been  seri- 
ously ill,  and  the  great  actress — imitating  Adrienne 
Le  Couvreur's  attentions  to  Voltaire — had  beguiled 
the  weary  hours  of  his  convalescence  by  reading  to 
him  the  "Arabian  Nights."  She  had  given  him,  also, 
a  room  in  her  hotel;  Madame  Geoff rin,  whom  he  had 
displeased,  having  withdrawn  from  him  the  privilege 
of  occupying  a  small  apartment  in  her  residence; 
though  her  salon  was  still  open  to  him.  Marmontel 
was  much  indebted  to  the  talent  of  Mdlle.  Clairon  for 
the  success  of  his  plays,  in  which  the  fire  of  genius 
burns  but  dimly;  for,  as  observed  by  a  French  writer, 
though  Marmontel  may  be  considered  a  distinguished 
writer,  his  place  is  among  those  of  the  second  rank. 

Caprice  might  sometimes  prevent  his  fair  friend 
from  doing  her  utmost  with  a  part  that  did  not  greatly 
take  her  fancy.  But  at  no  time  did  she  need  the 
stimulating  beverage  whence  Mdlle.  Dumesnil  seemed 
to  derive  the  pathos  and  tenderness  that  created  so 
much  emotion  in  her  audience.  The  chance  of  an  over- 
dose was,  however,  more  fatal  to  an  anxious  author's 
hopes  than  the  caprices  of  the  actress's  dignified  rival. 
The  due  proportion  of  water  omitted  from  her  draught, 
the  gentle  Dumesnil  had,  on  more  than  one  occasion, 
become  extravagantly  energetic,  ludicrously  lachry- 
mose, and,  instead  of  the  tears  she  was  accustomed  to 
draw  from  a  sympathetic  audience,  was  saluted  with 
derisive  shouts  of  laughter.  An  accident  of  this  kind 
occurred  on  the  first  representation  of  one  of  Marmon- 
tel's  plays.  The  poor  author  was  in  despair  on  wit- 
nessing her  eccentricities  and  the  noisy  mirth  they  oc- 
casioned. But  Mdlle.  Dumesnil  being  a  favorite  actress, 
her  patrons  pardoned  her;  and  at  the  next  represen- 
tation she  made  the  amende  honorable  to  Marmontel — 


A   VEXATIOUS  CONTRETEMPS. 


401 


securing,  by  her  fine  acting,  a  favorable  reception  for 
his  play.  For  his  obligations  to  Mdlle.  Clairon  he  was 
made  to  pay  largely.  Her  carriages  and  horses,  her 
hotel  in  Paris,  her  chateau  in  the  country,  and  general 
extravagance  made  large  supplies  of  cash  needful. 
Funds  sometimes  failed.  Then  Marmontel's  friend- 
ship was  put  to  the  test,  and  a  severe  one  too;  for  his 
own  resources  were  small,  and  he  was  compelled  to 
accept  favors  from  friends  to  enable  him  to  supply  the 
temporary  needs  of  a  lady  who  probably  never  dreamed 
of  repaying  the  sums  he  had  borrowed  for  her  use. 


(o: 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

A  Musical  Squabble. —  A  Latter-day  Blessing. — ^Jean- Jacques 
on  French  Music. — Rameau  Converted. — Tweedledum  and 
Tweedledee. — A  Question  of  State. — The  Grand 'chambre 
Banished. — "  Dieu  Protege  la  France." — Birth  of  the  Due 
de  Berri. — The  Harbinger  of  Peace. 

"The  queen's  corner"  and  "the  king's  corner"  were 
two  hostile  camps,  defiantly  facing  each  other  from 
opposite  sides  of  the  stage  of  the  Opera  de  Paris — the 
battle-ground  on  which  they  nightly  contended  for 
victory.  Those  who  ranged  themselves  under  the 
standard  of  the  queen  were  the  allies  of  the  Italian 
composer,  Pergolese,  and  his  "  Bouffons,"  or  company 
of  Italian  singers.  The  combatants  who  supported 
the  king  for  the  honor  of  France  (and,  indeed,  the 
contention  was  carried  on  so  rancorously  that  it 
threatened  literally  to  end  in  a  combat)  were  for  up- 
holding the  supremacy  of  French  music  and  the  su- 
periority of  native  singers.  LuUists  and  Ramists,  who 
some  years  before  had  engaged  in  a  similar  struggle 
for  pre-eminence,  now  formed  but  one  camp.  For 
Lulli,  though  by  birth  an  Italian,  had  lived  in  France 
from  boyhood  to  old  age,  and  acquired  there  his  first 
notions  of  music.  France  had  always  claimed  him  as 
her  own,  and  in  his  feelings  and  habits  he  was  essen- 
tially a  Frenchman. 

The  bitterness  of  spirit  evinced  on  both  sides,  in 
this  Franco-Italian  musical  squabble,  is  really  difficult 


A  LA  TTER'DA  Y  BLESSING, 


403 


to  realize.  The  cause  seems  so  insignificant,  in  com- 
parison with  the  energy  so  perseveringly  expended 
upon  it.  It,  however,  helps  to  an  understanding  of 
the  utter  frivolity  and  idleness  of  the  society  of  the 
period,  and  the  dearth  there  must  have  been  of  ex- 
citement, when  every  tea-cup  storm  caused  so  great  a 
commotion  in  the  world  of  fashion.  It  was  not  only 
the  belles  of  the  salons — pardonably  weary  of  knitting 
and  knotting  and  embroidery,  and  of  the  same  dull 
round  of  chit-chat,  th^  h  C Anglaise^  and  scandal — who 
welcomed  any  little  breezy  diversion  of  this  kind.  The 
philosophers  also,  the  regenerators  of  mankind,  actual- 
ly put  aside  for  awhile  their  encyclopzedical  labors,and 
entered  heart  and  soul  into  the  musical  quarrel. 

Every  one  had  in  his  pocket  his  treatise  on  music, 
or  a  letter  of  advice  or  remonstrance  to  Rameau  or 
Pergolese,  for  which  he  vainly  endeavored  to  get  a 
hearing  in  the  salons.  What  if  he  knew  nothing  of 
music  ?  had  never  given  it  ten  minutes'  thought  in  his 
life  ?  He,  nevertheless,  might  gratify  himself  by 
writing  an  essay  upon  it,  though  no  one  was  likely  to 
read  it,  and  express  his  opinion  on  the  subject,  though 
no  one  might  care  to  hear  it.  Unfortunately  there 
existed  not  then  that  latter-day  blessing,  a  legion  of 
newspapers,  so  obligingly  "  opening  their  columns  to 
the  thorough  ventilation"  (if  that  be  the  proper  nine- 
teenth-century phrase)  of  any  subject  of  general  inter 
est,  or  even  of  no  interest  at  all.  This  "  institution  ot 
our  times"  was  then  but  meagrely  developed.  Other- 
wise every  one  might  have  said  his  say  in  his  "  Jupi- 
ter," "  Pallas,"  "  Saturn,"  or  other  favorite  luminary; 
and  with  the  proud  consciousness,  too,  of  a  world- 
wide circulation  being  given  to  his  utterances.  Whe- 
ther he  could  reckon   on  being  as  widely  read  might 


404  ^^-^  o^^  rMime. 

have  been  as  problematical  as  in  these  days,  or  as  get- 
ting a  hearing  then  in  the  salons;  where  everybody 
was  willing  to  talk,  but  no  one  to  listen. 

Jean-Jacques,  who  had  some  musical  ideas,  though 
he  was  not  the  great  maestro  he  thought  himself,  of 
course  wrote  a  letter  on  the  subject.  It  was  ludi- 
crously violent,  and  its  logical  conclusion  was  as  fol- 
lows: "The  French  have  no  music,  and  cannot  have 
any;  or  should  they  ever  have  any,  it  will  be  so  much 
the  worse  for  them."  Rameau's  partisans  were  violent 
also.  He  himself  was  far  more  moderate.  His  idea 
was  not  so  much  that  Italian  music  was  less  scientific 
than  the  French,  as  that  the  French  language  did  not 
readily  lend  itself  to  the  vocal  expression  of  florid 
Italian  music — a  succession  of  rapid  roulades  and  an 
overwhelming  torrent  of  notes.  Others — among  them 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  one  of  the  few  qualified  to 
give  an  opinion — while  acknowledging  that  much  of 
the  singing  was  very  agreeable,  yet  detected  a  great 
want  of  harmony.  The  Italian  music  was  considered 
to  fail  also  when  attempting  concerted  effects,  which, 
from  being  overwhelmed  by  a  multiplicity  of  notes, 
the  ear  could  not  seize,  the  effect  produced  being 
merely  a  great  noise. 

Yet  the  Op6ra  Bouffe  gained  ground  rapidly.  "  La 
Serva  Padrona,"  the  music  by  Pergolese,  the  libretto 
by  Goldoni,  became  an  established  favorite;  the 
melodies  were  so  lively  and  natural,  while  the  sing- 
ers, though  comic,  were  graceful,  easy,  and  elegant. 
Louis  XV.  adopted  the  opinions,  musical  as  well  as 
political,  of  Madame  de  Pompadour.  But  as  she 
often  visited  the  Opera  Bouffe,  and  greatly  patron- 
ized the  Italian,  Petrini^  who  had  invented  the  pedal 
harp  (which  entirely  superseded  the  guitar,  and  was 


TWEEDLEDUM  AND    TWEEDLEDEB.         405 

also  for  several  years  a  formidable  rival  to  the  harpsi- 
chord— then  waiting  for  the  improvements  that  were 
to  give  it  the  name  of  forte-piano),  it  was  inferred 
that  she  was  not  insensible  to  the  charm  which  Ra- 
meau  himself  confessed  he  found  in  Italian  music. 

Opposition  to  the  Op^ra  Bouffe  gradually  subsided. 
Either  the  contending  parties  were  weary  of  the 
strife,  or  it  had  lost  its  zest  when  the  two  great  au- 
thorities, Rameau  and  Madame  de  Pompadour,  be- 
came more  than  reconciled,  as  it  appeared,  to  the 
innovation.  The  latter  sang  the  airs  and  made 
them  popular  among  the  ladies,  now  so  devoted  to 
their  harps.  Rameau,  whose  well-earned  fame  suf- 
fered no  diminution  from  the  favor  shown  to  Pergo- 
lese,  was  then  seventy-one.  He  was  accustomed  to 
say  that,  if  he  were  thirty  years  younger,  he  would  go 
to  Italy  and  study  the  new  school  of  music,  and  that 
Pergolese  should  be  his  model;  but  that  at  threescore 
and  ten  it  was  too  late  to  strike  out  new  paths.  He, 
however,  continued  to  plod  on  in  the  old  one,  and 
lived  to  the  age  of  eighty-three.  His  theoretical 
works  were  highly  valued,  and  contributed  greatly 
towards  the  advancement  of  musical  science  in  France. 

But  while  this  furious  musical  hubbub  was  at  its 
height,  the  wrathful  contest  at  the  Theatre  Fran9ais 
had  risen  to  a  white  heat.  From  Paris  to  Versailles 
no  subject  was  discussed  with  so  much  interest  and 
vivacity  as  the  rival  claims  of  musicians  and  actors. 
Suddenly  the  dancers  bounded  into  the  fray;  and  it 
was  on  this  wise.  Many  persons,  who,  like  Dean 
Swift  on  a  similar  occasion  in  England,  thought  it 
"  strange  that  such  difference  there  should  be  'twixt 
tweedledum  and  tweedledee,"  had  forsaken  the  Opera 
for  the  Fran9ais.     There,  indeed,  silence  was  often 


406  THE   OLD  kAGIM&. 

obtained  by  the  sheer  force  of  Lekain's  great  tragic 
acting;  the  opposition  of  his  enemies  fading  away 
before  it.  Or  if  the  tumult  exceeded  the  limits  which 
the  file  of  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets,  that  invariably 
surrounded  the  pit  at  that  period,  thought  allowable, 
the  police  stepped  in,  and,  under  the  protection  of  the 
military,  arrested  the  offenders. 

The  play  ended,  the  ballet  began,  and,  pleasing  all 
parties,  had  become  exceedingly  popular.  The  re- 
ceipts of  the  opera-house,  never  a  thriving  establish- 
ment, though  subsidized  by  the  government,  began 
to  fall  off.  The  directors  thought  to  remedy  this  by 
prohibiting  the  representation  of  ballet  at  the  Theatre 
Frangais,  and  accusing  the  managers  of  an  infringe- 
ment of  their  privileges.  The  "comediens  du  roi" 
regarded  this  grievance  as  a  question  of  State,  and 
remonstrated  against  the  pretensions  of  the  Academie 
de  Musique,  in  a  memorial  addressed  to  the  council 
of  government.  Not  meeting  with  the  ready  inter- 
ference in  their  favor  they  had  expected,  they  closed 
their  theatre.  "  If  they  were  not  to  dance,  they  would 
not  act."  This  step  is  said  to  have  added  greatly 
to  the  arduous  duties  of  the  Lieutenant  of  Police. 
Crowds  assembled,  clamoring  for  admission,  demand- 
ing the  play,  but  especially  calling  for  the  ballet. 

As  the  doors  continued  closed,  the  military  dis- 
persed the  people;  the  rougher  portion  of  whom  ram- 
bled about  Paris  or  filled  the  taverns.  M.  de  Sartines, 
then  Lieutenant  of  Police,  was  a  great  advocate  for 
establishing  new  theatres;  a  proposal  that  met  with 
immense  opposition  from  the  three  already  authorized 
by  the  State.  He  was  accustomed  to  double  the 
watch  throughout  the  city  during  the  three  weeks 
of   the   theatrical   vacation.     Misdemeanors,  he  said, 


THE  GRAND'CHAMBRE  BANISHED.  407 

and  even  serious  crimes,  were  so  much  more  frequent 
when  the  theatres  were  closed.  He  considered  that 
they  kept  the  idle  and  ill-disposed  out  of  mischief,  and 
that  it  was  better  for  the  honest  artisan  to  go  to  the 
play  than  the  tavern.  His  manners  and  morals,  he 
fancied,  were  likely  to  be  improved  there.  Others, 
however,  were  of  opinion  that,  although  lessons  of 
virtue  might  be  received  at  the  theatre,  impressions 
of  vice  only  were  carried  away.  In  this  dilemma,  two 
or  three  of  the  principal  comedians  were  deputed  to 
wait  on  Madame  de  Pompadour,  requesting  her  influ- 
ence to  obtain  from  the  Grand 'chambre  an  edict  au- 
thorizing the  Th^dtre  Fran9ais  to  represent  ballet 
without  let  or  hindrance  from  the  Academic  de  Mu- 
sique. 

But  the  Grand'chambre  itself  was  in  a  state  of  re- 
bellion, and  was  banished  to  Pontoise,  then  to  Sois- 
sons,  and  public  business  was  at  a  standstill.  Com- 
manded by  the  king  to  return  to  the  capital  and 
resume  its  functions,  the  Grand'chambre  declined  to 
obey.  The  kingdom  was,  in  fact,  in  a  state  of 
anarchy;  yet  singularly  enough  it  was  rich  and  flour- 
ishing. "  If  France  is  prosperous  under  the  rule  of 
such  a  sovereign  as  Louis  XV.,"  said  Benedict  XIV., 
"  there  can  be  no  stronger  proof  of  the  watchful  care 
of  Providence  over  his  people."  Benedict,  who  was 
more  sensible  and  rational  than  most  of  the  popes, 
and  who  disliked  the  Jesuits,  had  been  applied  to  by 
the  king  to  settle  the  distracting  differences  in  the 
Church.  He  had  striven  to  conciliate  opposing  par- 
ties; to  explain  away,  though  not  very  successfully, 
some  objections  of  the  Parliament  on  the  subject  of 
the  still  troublesome  Bull.  But  the  Bull  continued 
for  some  time  as  lively  and  prankish  as  ever,  until, 


408  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

happily,  a  matador  wsiS  found  to  give  him  his  quietus; 
and,  when  finally  disposed  of,  a  song  of  triumph  was 
chanted  over  him,  and  it  was  not  exactly  a  eulogy. 

Gayety  and  thoughtlessness  aie  so  characteristic  of 
the  French  that  trifles  light  as  air  will  often  suffice 
to  arouse  them  from  any  temporary  depression.  The 
king  was,  perhaps,  as  striking  an  exception  to  the 
common  rule  as  could  have  been  found  in  his  king- 
dom. At  this  time  the  feeling  between  him  and  his 
people  had  become  reciprocally  so  adverse  that  the 
general  situation  of  affairs — aggravated  by  the  arro- 
gance of  the  exiled  Archbishop  of  Paris,  who  played 
the  martyr — began  to  wear  a  menacing  aspect.  Louis' 
fits  of  melancholy  and  remorse  grew  deeper;  and  all 
the  efforts  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  chase  away 
his  despondency  fell  short  of  their  usual  effect.  He 
began  to  perceive  that  even  she  had  lost  something  of 
her  accustomed  gayety.  "Madame,"  he  said,  "if  you 
do  not  recover  your  spirits,  I  shall  have  to  dance  and 
sing  snatches  of  song  to  make  you  merry." 

Fortunately,  at  this  crisis,  the  dauphine  gave  birth 
to  a  son — the  Due  de  Berri — afterwards  the  unfor- 
tunate Louis  XVI.  He  was  born  on  the  23d  of 
August,  1754.  Fetes  and  rejoicings  banished  the  pre- 
vailing gloom  and  discontent.  The  Opera  and  the 
Theatre  Fran9ais  found  it  convenient  to  forget  their 
disputes,  and  to  open  their  doors  to  crowded  audi- 
ences. The  king  took  advantage  of  the  birth  of  this 
child  to  put  an  end  to  all  rigorous  proceedings  against 
his  rebellious  parliaments  and  refractory  clergy.  A 
sort  of  general  amnesty  was  proclaimed;  celebrated 
by  balls,  illuminations,  and  fireworks;  grand  ban- 
quets at  Paris  and  Versailles;  operas,  French  and 
Italian,  and  grand  ballets,  in  which  the  future  career 


THE  HARBINGER  OF  PEACE.  4O9 

of  the  infant  duke  was  shadowed  forth,  by  entrechats 
and  pirouettes^  as  one  of  happiness  and  glory.  His 
nativity  was  cast,  and,  alas  for  the  credit  of  the 
prophets!  no  cloud,  even  so  big  as  a  man's  hand,  could 
be  discerned  on  the  peaceful  horizon,  to  indicate  that 
the  deluge — which  even  Louis  XV.  foresaw  looming 
in  the  murky  future — should  descend  on  the  head  of 
this  poor  child  and  engulf  him  in  its  desolating  tor- 
rent. Never  was  so  grand  a  christening:  in  splendor 
the  festivities,  public  and  private,  far  surpassed  those 
that  took  place  at  the  christening  of  the  first-born. 
This  child  seemed  to  come  into  the  world  as  the  har- 
binger of  peace  to  France,  and  to  be  received  by  both 
king  and  people  as  a  pledge  of  their  reconciliation, 
and  the  cessation  of  the  domestic  troubles  that  had 
recently  so  agitated  the  kingdom. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

Diplomatists  in  Conference. — An  Old  Custom  Revived. — A  Pro- 
jected Dethronement. — Les  Abb6s  Sans  Fonction. — Babet, 
the  Flower-girl.  —  Drawing-room  Priestlings.  —  A  Pertinent 
Quotation. — "  Le  Voyage  du  Jeune  Anacharsis. " — La  Duchesse 
de  Choiseul. — The  Abbe  Barth61emy. — Marmontel's  Plays. — 
"Les  Fun6railles  de  S6sostris." — The  Shadow  of  Favor. — 
Marmontel  Consoled.  —  The  Comte  and  the  Mar6chal.  — 
Frozen-out  of  Versailles. 

Count  Stahremberg  had  succeeded  M.  de  Kaunitz 
as  minister  plenipotentiary  from  the  empress-queen 
to  Madame  de  Pompadour.  His  conferences  with  the 
all-powerful  lady  and  her  prof/g/,  the  Abbe  de  Bernis, 
ended  in  an  alliance  between  Austria  and  France,  and 
a  determination  to  declare  war  against  England,  who 
had  agreed  to  aid  Prussia  by  the  payment  of  a  con- 
siderable subsidy.  The  king  gave  up  entirely  to  his 
mistress  the  negotiation  of  the  preparatory  treaty; 
afterwards  to  be  submitted  to  the  Council  of  State, 
and  approved  and  signed  by  himself.  It  is  not  here 
that  its  stipulations  need  be  enlarged  upon.  It  suf- 
fices to  mention  that  the  agents  of  the  "  high  contract- 
ing parties,"  for  the  better  concealment  of  their  ob- 
jects from  those  members  of  the  government  who 
were  opposed  to  an  Austrian  alliance,  met  at  Babiole — 
the  btjou  country-seat  of  Madame  de  Pompadour — and 
there,  in  her  boudoir,  mutually  made  known  and  dis- 
cussed the  views  and  pretensions  of  their  respective 
sovereigns. 


AN  OLD  CUSTOM  REVIVED.  4I1 

The  jests  and  gibes  of  Frederick  of  Prussia  con- 
tributed no  doubt  to  the  readiness  with  which  both 
Louis  XV.  and  Madame  de  Pompadour  entered  into 
the  views  of  Marie  Th6rese,  and  determined  also  the 
Empress  Elizabeth  of  Russia  to  assist  in  the  attempt 
to  dispossess  him  of  Silesia.  France  was  to  be  re- 
warded for  her  contingent  of  24,000  men,  with  "  Bel- 
gium as  far  as  Antwerp,"  and  the  extension  of  her 
frontiers  to  the  Rhine.  Austrians  and  French,  united, 
were  to  take  possession  of  Hanover;  the  electorate  re- 
maining in  the  hands  of  the  French.  But  while  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour  was  engaged  in  diplomacy,  the 
king  at  Choisy  was  besieged  by  the  great  ladies  of  the 
court;  waylaid  at  every  turn;  beset  wherever  it  was 
possible  to  meet  him.  The  ^Uongue  a?mti<f^*'  as  the  ten 
years'  reign  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  was  beginning 
to  be  called,  had  lasted  long  enough,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  ladies  in  waiting;  who  naturally  were  anxious  that 
the  king  should  select  her  successor  from  the  class  to 
whom  the  honor,  from  right  of  usage,  belonged. 

At  this  time,  too,  a  custom  introduced  by  Louis  XIV., 
but  which  did  not  survive  him,  probably  because  of 
the  extreme  youth  of  his  successor,  was  renewed  in 
consequence  of  the  Court  of  Justice  and  the  parlia- 
ments refusing  to  reassemble  for  the  despatch  of  their 
public  duties.  It  was  that  all  petitions,  either  request- 
ing favors  or  complaining  of  wrongs  or  abuses,  should 
be  made  personally  to  the  king.  This  was  burden- 
some, indeed,  to  one  who,  besides  his  natural  indo- 
lence, was  increasingly  subject  to  attacks  of  profound 
melancholy,  from  which  neither  his  favorite  courtiers 
nor  the  utmost  efforts  of  Madame  de  Pompadour  could 
rouse  him.  During  her  absence,  tender-hearted  ladies 
greatly  availed  themselves  of  the  revived  custom,  to 


412  THE   OLD  RilGlMB. 

appear  before  the  king  as  suppliants  for  unfortunate 
persons  whose  wrongs  they  were  desirous  of  bringing 
under  his  notice. 

Many  an  ambitious  husband,  also,  put  forward  his 
wife  to  plead  for  place  or  promotion;  believing  that 
her  beauty  would  prevail,  while  merits  or  claims  of 
his  own  would  be  disregarded.  His  majesty  was 
"  mortally  weary"  of  the  persistency  of  the  fair  peti- 
tioners who  sought  to  inspire  him  with  an  interest  in 
the  objects  of  their  real  or  feigned  solicitude,  while 
seeking  admiration  for  themselves.  He  was  fast  fall- 
ing into  a  state  of  despondency  and  gloomy  devotion, 
when  these  court  intrigues,  whose  aim  was  to  dethrone 
her,  recalled  Madame  de  Pompadour  to  Choisy.  The 
count  and  the  abbe,  meanwhile,  betook  themselves  to 
the  Luxembourg,  to  the  apartments  occupied  by  Du- 
clos — historian  of  France — to  prepare  there,  unmo- 
lested, the  plan  of  alliance  for  presentation  to  the 
king  in  council.     It  was  signed  on  the  ist  of  May, 

1756. 

The  Abbe  de  Bernis,  who  had  been  admitted  to  take 
part  in  the  discussion  and  preparation  of  this  treaty 
of  alliance,  was  then  Secretary  of  Foreign  Affairs,  and 
had  represented  France  at  the  courts  of  Vienna  and 
Madrid.  His  rise  in  the  world  had  been  rapid,  and 
had  astonished  no  one,  probably,  more  than  himself. 
Fortune  had  turned  her  back  on  him  while  he  was 
modest  in  his  aspirations,  and  had  coveted  only  small 
favors.  But  when  he  made  up  his  mind  for  a  higher 
flight,  the  fickle  goddess  faced  round,  gave  him  her 
hand,  and  at  a  bound  he  attained  wealth  and  fame. 
He  was  the  son  of  a  country  gentleman,  and  was  born 
at  St.  Marcel  d'Ardichel.  His  father  had  ruined  him- 
self by  obstinate  litigation  concerning  the  right  to  a 


BABET,   THE  FLOWER  GIRL.  413 

valueless  portion  of  ground.  De  Bernis  was  one  of 
those  abbes  '"'' sans  fonction"  who  owed  their  position 
to  the  abuses  that  sprang  up  in  the  Church  at  the  time 
of  the  regency. 

The  younger  sons  of  gentlemen,  with  little  or  no 
fortune  or  fixed  means  of  subsistence,  received  the 
tonsure,  put  on  the  dress  of  an  abbe,  and  at  once 
formed  part  of  the  ecclesiastical  body.  Many  such 
abbes  figured  in  the  salonSy  frequented  the  most  liber- 
tine circles,  and,  generally,  led  dissipated  lives  while 
waiting  for  fortune  to  throw  in  their  way  an  eligible 
sinecure — an  abbacy,  or  priory,  that  did  not  necessi- 
tate residence.  These  were  at  the  disposal  of  the 
king,  who  would  often  bestow  one  at  the  solicitation 
of  some  beauty  to  whom  a  gay  abbe  of  the  salons 
may  have  been  paying  his  court.  In  an  instance  given 
by  M.  Bungener  of  the  prattle  of  the  fashionable  salons^ 
there  occurs  the  following: 

"Ah!  my  dear  Abbe!  good-evening.  Is  your  abbacy 
a  good  one  ?" 

"  Tolerably  good,  madame." 

"  Six  or  seven  livres'  income,  perhaps  ?" 

"  About  ten  or  twelve,  madame.  The  Abbe  de  Saint- 
■Maur  has  an  abbacy  too." 

"  Indeed  !     He  is  a  rabid  encyclopaedist." 

"  What  does  that  prove  ?" 

"That  he  has  plenty  of  brains,  certainly;  and  that 
abbacy  had  better  support  a  man  of  genius  than  a 
fool." 

And  so  thought  Madame  de  Pompadour,  for  it  was 
to  her  that  De  Bernis  owed  his  rapid  rise  from  a  poor 
rhyming  abbe  sans  fonction  to  a  full-fledged  cardinal 
and  royal  academician.  She  is  said  never  to  have 
been  able  entirely  to  suppress  laughter  when  she  saw 


414 


THE  OLD  REGIME. 


the  little  fat  abbe  of  former  times  in  the  scarlet  stock- 
ings and  hat,  robes  and  laces,  of  his  Eminence,  with 
twelve  tall  lackeys,  in  scarlet  liveries,  following  with 
solemn  faces  this  bundle  of  ecclesiastical  frippery. 
In  his  sans  fonction  days  he  had  been  generally  known 
by  the  sobriquet  of  ^'•Babet  the  flower-girl,"  from  the 
resemblance  of  his  round,  fat,  pink-and-white  face  to 
that  of  the  little  rotund  flower-girl  who  sold  flowers 
at  the  garden  gate  of  the  Capucine  convent.  Voltaire 
laughed  at  him,  and  gave  him  the  name  of  Margot. 
But  the  abbe  was  a  clever  man;  and  his  stanzas  and 
madrigals  were  better  than  many  of  Voltaire's,  and 
than  most  of  the  large  crop  of  poetic  bagatelles  that 
throve  so  abundantly  in  those  times. 

De  Bernis'  first  meeting  with  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour was  when,  a  young  girl  of  seventeen,  she  was 
invited,  with  her  mother,  to  a  ball  in  celebration  of 
the  marriage  of  a  school  companion  with  M.  de  Mar- 
chais.  The  abbe  seems  to  have  paid  her  those  flirting 
attentions  and  compliments  that  were  generally  ex- 
pected from  these  drawing-room  priestlings,  and 
which  were  rendered  in  exchange  for  dinners  and 
suppers  that  would  have  puzzled  most  of  them  to  pay 
for  at  a  restaurant.  Very  ceremoniously  he  begged 
of  Madame  Poisson  to  allow  him  to  make  use  of  her 
fan  a  few  moments.  Babet  had  probably  fatigued 
and  heated  himself  overmuch  in  the  dance.  When 
the  fan  was  returned,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had 
written  upon  it  a  very  gallant  and  witty  impromptu. 
What  more  could  be  required  to  gain  the  firm  friend- 
ship of  both  mother  and  daughter  ? — of  course  he 
obtained  it. 

Had  Babet  been  that  day  to  consult  the  old  fortune- 
teller ?     It  was  one  of  that  class,  who  throve  on  the 


A   PERTINENT  QUOTATION.  415 

credulity  of  superstitious  atheism,  then  so  prevalent  in 
Paris,  that  had  foretold  him  of  a  great  and  sudden 
elevation  in  the  world.  Yet  he  could  scarcely  hope 
that  it  would  come  from  the  quarter  whither  he  had 
been  drawn  by  youth,  beauty,  and  talent  to  offer  his 
rhymed  compliments.  He  had  rather  been  led  to 
woo  fortune's  favors  at  the  hands  of  M.  de  La  Motte, 
Bishop  of  Amiens.  But  M.  de  La  Motte,  though  not 
a  rigid  prelate,  was  little  inclined  to  bestow  his  bene- 
fices on  the  rose-water  abbes  of  the  salons.  Yet  he 
gave  young  De  Bernis  a  polite  and  smiling  reception; 
chatting  gayly  with  him  on  the  news  of  the  day.  Not 
less  gayly  did  he  reply,  when  his  visitor  confided  to 
him  that  he  would  be  glad  to  be  appointed  to  any 
small  benefice  in  his  diocese  which  the  bishop  might 
then  have  vacant. 

"  Quand  on  salt  aimer  et  plaire, 
Qu'a-t-on  besoin  d'autre  bien  ?"  * 

said  the  bishop,  quoting  the  refrain  of  one  of  the 
abbe's  most  popular  ditties. 

Soon  after  his  first  introduction  to  Mdlle.  Poisson, 
rAbb6  de  Bernis  was  reciting  odes  and  singing 
chansonnettgs,  composed  for  the  occasion,  at  the  mar- 
riage festivities  of  M.  and  Madame  Le  Normand 
d'Etioles.  Three  or  four  years  passed  by.  The  abbe, 
who  during  that  interval  had  been  M.  d'Etioles'  con- 
stant guest,  then  paid  his  court  at  the  toilet  of  the 
Marquise  de  Pompadour,  and  of  course  was  not 
sparing  of  his  songs  and  madrigals.  And  very  gra- 
ciously the  abbe  was  received;  for,  as  Marmontel  says, 

*  When  one  knows  how  to  love  and  to  please,  what  more  can  he 
want? 


4l6  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

"  simple  bourgeoise,  she  remained  in  her  elevation  the 
kindest  woman  in  the  world." 

But  notwithstanding  the  liberality  of  her  patronage 
and  readily  accorded  protection  to  aspirants  for  liter- 
ary and  artistic  fame,  none  of  the  poems  or  other 
works  so  numerously  dedicated  to  her  achieved  the 
lasting  fame  of  the  fascinating  work  written  by  the 
Abbe  Barthelemy  to  please  the  Duchesse  de  Choiseul 
— "  Le  Voyage  du  Jeune  Anacharsis  en  Grece."  What 
are  Marmontel's  "  Contes  Moraux,"  and  the  whole 
mass  of  stanzas  and  madrigals  of  the  Abbe  de  Bernis, 
compared  with  the  charming  offering  that  Barthelemy 
laid  at  the  feet  of  his  patroness  ? 

Madame  de  Choiseul  was  a  pretty  little  woman, 
exceedingly  fond  of  flattery.  A  clever  woman,  of 
course.  What  woman  of  distinction  was  not  in  those 
days  ?  Her  salon  was  decidedly  philosophical,  and 
both  she  and  her  husband  were  favorites  in  the  society 
of  the  free-thinkers  of  the  De  Conti  and  De  Boufflers 
school.  The  duke  being  high  in  the  favor  and  con- 
fidence of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  possessing 
also  the  secret  of  making  himself  agreeable  to  the 
king,  what  favors  might  not  be  obtained  by  means  of 
that  adulation  that  was  so  acceptable  to  the  duchess  ? 
The  savants  and  literary  men  who  frequented  her 
salons  were  never  weary  of  chanting  paeans  in  honor 
of  the  little  divinity,  whose  sunny  smiles  and  good 
graces  they  so  earnestly  coveted. 

Her  fantastically  dressed  negro  dwarf;  her  mis- 
chievous marmoset;  her  King  Charles  spaniel;  her 
rose-ringed  parroquet,  and  other  pets  of  her  boudoir^ 
had  each  and  all  found  poets  to  sing  their  praises  and 
extol  their  beauty.  "  The  little  white  feet "  of  the 
fair  duchess  herself  had  inspired  odes  innumerable. 


THE  ABBE  BARTHlLEMY. 


417 


But  the  choicest  offering  hitherto  laid  at  those  little 
white  feet  was  the  historical  tale  she  had  commanded 
the  abbe  to  write,  and  which  he  read  to  his  duchess. 
He  read,  it  would  seem,  as  well  as  he  wrote.  His 
style,  so  lucid,  so  eloquent,  with  a  tournure  de  phrase 
that  charms  and  fascinates,  pleased  her  so  well  that 
she  would  have  his  book  read  to  her  a  second  time; 
and  declared  that  it  would  gratify  her  to  listen  to  it  a 
third. 

Yet  Barth61emy  was  less  fortunate  than  De  Bernis. 
The  latter,  with  only  his  songs  and  madrigals,  was 
elected  to  an  academic  arm-chair  before  he  had  at- 
tained his  fortieth  year.  The  Abbe  Barth61emy  waited 
for  that  honor  until  old  age.  The  difference  may 
have  been  owing  to  favor  in  one  instance,  while  in 
the  other  there  was  only  modest  merit  to  claim  the 
distinction. 

But  Louis  XV.  did  not  share  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour's predilection  for  the  little  rotund  poetaster  of  an 
abbe.  *'  He  is  a  fop,"  said  his  majesty;  "an  ill-mannered 
priest."  But  his  promotion  was  rapid  when  it  did 
come;  though  he  waited  some  years  for  his  first  step 
of  importance.  For  we  learn  from  Marmontel,  who 
had  presented  his  homage  to  the  reigning  favorite  in 
the  form  of  a  complimentary  ode  on  the  occasion  of 
the  foundation  of  the  Ecole  Militaire,  that  the  mar- 
quise, being  interested  in  his  poem,  gave  him  permis- 
sion to  visit  her  with  the  Abbe  de  Bernis.  This  could 
not  have  been  earlier  than  1751  or  1752.  Duclos  and 
the  abbe,  he  says,  were  then  accustomed  to  attend 
every  Sunday  at  her  toilet,  and  he  at  this  time  accom- 
panied them,  and  was  introduced  by  De  Bernis,  as  the 
marquise  had  directed. 

The  abbe  had  then  secured  a  sinecure,  at  Boulogne- 


41 8  THE  OLD  REGIME, 

sur-Mer;  and  his  ambitious  hopes  would  have  been 
fully  attained  had  the  pension  of  fifty  louis  (Tor  he 
then  so  earnestly  sought  been  granted  him.  So  says 
Marmontel.  His  own  aspirations,  he  writes,  were 
bounded  by  a  desire  for  some  post  in  the  government 
that  would  usefully  occupy  him  in  the  public  service, 
and  make  him  less  dependent  on  public  caprice.  The 
public  were  not  generally  enthusiastic  in  their  recep- 
tion of  Marmontel's  plays.  "  Denis,  le  Tyran"  was 
one  of  the  most  successful;  but  their  short-lived 
honors  were  more  frequently  due  to  the  actors  than 
to  the  author.  Marmontel,  himself,  was  then  fully 
persuaded  that  he  could  never  achieve  a  high  repu- 
tation in  dramatic  writing.  Not,  however,  from  any 
disparagement  of  his  own  abilities,  but  because  he 
believed  that  all  the  great  subjects  of  history;  all  the 
great  interests  of  the  human  mind;  violent  passions, 
tender  emotions,  tragic  situations;  every  source  of 
terror,  compassion,  hatred,  love,  had  been  so  thor- 
oughly exhausted  by  the  great  masters  of  dramatic 
art  who  had  lived  and  written  before  him,  that  nothing 
remained  for  the  writers  of  his  time  to  exercise  their 
talents  upon. 

Madame  de  Pompadour,  to  whom  he  imparted  his 
ideas  on  this  subject,  by  no  means  agreed  with  him. 
She  advised  his  continuance  in  a  literary  career  as  the 
one  for  which  he  was  best  suited,  and  recommended 
him  to  follow  the  example  of  Voltaire,  who  replied  to 
the  rebuffs  of  fortune  by  the  production  of  fresh  mas- 
ter-pieces. He  received  her  advice  as  a  command, 
and  began  forthwith  to  torture  his  brain  for  the  sub- 
ject of  a  new  play.  Nothing  better  occurred  to  him 
than  the  dismal  one  of  "  Les  Funerailles  de  Sesostris," 
upon  which  he  immediately  set  to  work.     When  fin- 


THE   SHADOW  OF  FAVOR. 


419 


ished,  he  submitted  it  to  his  patroness.  Having 
glanced  through  the  MS.,  and  marked  certain  pas- 
sages she  thought  susceptible  of  improvement,  she 
returned  it  to  him  with  a  few  verbal  remarks  in  an 
undertone,  when  next  he  attended  her  toilet.  The 
impression  produced  by  this  incident  on  all  who  were 
present — "marquises,  dukes,  countesses,  princes  of 
the  blood" — was  instantly  manifest  in  the  change  of 
their  manner  towards  the  favorite's /r^/<^/. 

Marmontel  was  astounded.  "  Friendly  salutations," 
he  says,  "on  all  sides;  sweet  smiles  of  friendship;  and 
before  I  left  the  room,  I  was  invited  to  dinner  for  a 
fortnight  at  least."  Poor  philosopher!  He  made  his 
escape  as  soon  as  possible,  bowing  his  thanks  all 
round,  covered  with  confusion,  as  he  says,  and  men- 
tally ejaculating:  "Ah!  what  must  favor  itself  be,  if 
the  mere  shadow  of  it  falling  upon  me  raises  me  im- 
mediately to  such  immense  importance  !"  But  this 
shadow  of  favor  did  not  extend  to  "  Les  Fun6railles 
de  S6sostris,"  though  it  was  sent  to  the  Theatre  Fran- 
9ais  with  a  letter  of  recommendation,  and  an  urgent 
request  to  produce  it  with  every  care,  and  as  soon  as 
possible.  But  the  public  voice  could  not  be  enlisted 
in  its  favor.  After  its  first  representation,  Marmontel 
wrote  to  his  patroness  that  the  public,  instead  of  being 
deeply  affected,  as  he  had  hoped,  at  "  Les  Fun6railles 
de  Sesostris,"  had  been  moved  only  to  laughter.  "  I 
had  taken  the  liberty  of  boring  the  public,  and  the 
public  took  the  liberty  of  hissing  me." 

"Poor  young  man!"  said  the  king,  to  whom  the  let- 
ter was  read.  "  The  failure  of  his  play  must  be  as 
painful  to  him  as  the  loss  of  a  battle  would  be  to  me. 
Is  there  no  means  at  hand  of  consoling  him,  no  ac- 
ceptable place  vacant  to  offer  ?"     The  place  of  Secre- 


420  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

tary  of  Buildings,  in  De  Marigny's  department,  was 
ascertained  to  be  vacant;  and,  at  the  king's  request, 
the  crestfallen  dramatist  was  appointed  to  it.  Thus 
Marmontel  was  consoled,  and  to  his  great  satisfaction; 
while  hoping  for  something  still  better. 

By  degrees  De  Bernis  also  contrived  to  insinuate 
himself  into  the  good  graces  of  the  king.  He  was 
concerned  in  the  so-called  secret  diplomacy  with  which 
the  indolent  and  vicious  Louis  XV.  amused  himself — 
playing,  as  it  were,  a  sort  of  hidden  political  game  of 
chess  against  Madame  de  Pompadour  and  his  minis- 
ters; others  making  the  moves,  the  king  directing; 
but  always  allowing  his  agents  and  himself  to  be 
checkmated.  The  Comte  de  Broglie  was  one  of  Louis' 
principal  instruments  in  the  carrying  on  of  this  inane 
game  of  diplomacy.  In  the  course  of  the  Seven  Years' 
War  he  contrived  to  do  France  considerable  harm,  by 
the  undue  confidence  he  placed  in  the  aimless  views 
of  the  king,  as  well  as  in  overrating  the  importance  of 
his  mission,  and  imparting  the  same  view  of  it  to  his 
brother,  the  marechal. 

The  Comte  de  Broglie  was  of  small  stature  and 
slight  figure,  with  that  consequential  air  peculiar  to 
many  of  the  diminutive  specimens  of  humanity.  He 
was  a  choleric  little  personage  also.  The  facility  with 
which  he  could  be  put  into  a  passion — Bezenval  says 
— greatly  amused  women,  who  took  much  delight  in 
tormenting  him.  By  his  own  sex,  we  learn  from  the 
same  authority,  the  little  count  was  but  slightingly 
regarded.  The  Marechal  de  Broglie  was  cast  in  a 
rougher  mould.  He  was  not  of  too  pleasant  a  tem- 
per, and  his  manners  were  more  suited  to  the  camp 
than  the  salon;  where  he  was  accustomed  to  let  the 
world  know  how  good  an  opinion  he  had  of  himself. 


FROZEN  OUT  OF  VERSAILLES.  42 1 

As  a  general,  the  reputation  of  De  Broglie  was  ex- 
cellent. Unfortunately,  however,  his  jealousy  would 
not  allow  him  to  co-operate  cordially  with  the  Prince 
de  Soubise,  who  held  the  more  responsible  command, 
and  the  result  was  disastrous  to  France.  The  marshal 
sought  an  interview  with  the  king,  for  the  purpose  of 
explaining  and  justifying  his  conduct.  But  Louis 
received  him  in  so  icy  a  manner  that  the  rough  sol- 
dier, though  he  had  in  his  time  faced  undauntedly  a 
good  deal  of  bad  weather,  was  fairly  frozen  out  of  Ver- 
sailles by  the  glacial  chillness  of  its  atmosphere.  He 
had  the  folly  to  trouble  his  gracious  majesty  with  a 
long  memorial.  The  reply  was  an  order  to  him  and 
his  coxcombical  little  brother  to  betake  themselves  to 
their  estates. 

It  was  an  arbitrary  proceeding  on  one  side  ;  and  a 
very  disagreeable  one  to  submit  to  on  the  other.  For 
when  the  chateau  and  family  domain  were  far  distant 
from  the  gay  world  of  Paris,  an  order  to  reside  there 
was  almost  like  banishment  to  a  living  tomb.  But  it 
was  the  king's  favorite  way  of  showing  his  displea- 
sure; in  short,  it  was  the  fashion,  and  every  one  had 
to  submit. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Surrender  of  Port  Mahon. — The  Warrior's  Welcome. — The  Mace- 
donian Phalanx  — Richelieu's  Intrigues. — Le  Mar6chal  d'Es- 
tr6es. — L'Abb6  de  Bernis'  Suggestion. — A  Sad  Catastrophe. — 
The  King's  Reply  to  the  Dauphin. — A  Perplexing  Position. — 
The  Prisoner  of  Dourlens. — "  Nous  avons  Deux  G6n6raux."— y 
Discontent  of  the  People. — Royal  Economy. — Le  Jeu  du  Roi. 
— A  Startling  Event. — Francois  Damiens. — In  Distress  for  a 
Shirt. — Confessed  and  Absolved. — Damiens'  Letter  to  Louis 
XV. — The  Force  of  Habit. — Execution  of  Damiens. 

Europe  was  actually  at  peace,  though  everywhere 
preparations  were  diligently  making  for  war.  Madame 
de  Pompadour  was  at  one  of  her  country-seats,  nursing 
her  health  ;  which  at  times  was  much  affected  by  the 
pestilent  vapors  of  the  stagnant  waters  of  Versailles, 
and  the  general  unhealthiness  of  that  royal  dwelling. 
The  old  libertine  Due  de  Richelieu,  taking  advan- 
tage of  her  temporary  absence,  was  sighing  at  the 
feet  of  Madame  de  Lauraguais  ;  with  the  view  of  ob- 
taining, through  a  certain  influence  she  still  had  with 
the  king,  as  the  sister  of  Madame  de  Chateauroux, 
the  command  of  the  troops  on  the  southern  coast  of 
France. 

A  fleet  of  eleven  ships  of  the  line  had  been  hastily 
fitted  out,  and  had  already  sailed,  under  the  command 
of  Admiral  de  La  Gallissonniere,  for  the  Mediterranean. 
Falling  in  there  with  the  squadron  commanded  by  the 
unfortunate  Admiral  Byng,  which  was  carrying  sup- 


THE  WARRIOI^S  WELCOME,  423 

plies  to  the  garrison  of  Fort  Philip,  at  Minorca,  the 
French  fleet  beat  off  the  English  and  compelled  the 
admiral  to  retreat,  with  some  damage  to  his  ships,  to 
Gibraltar.  At  this  juncture  arrived  the  duke,  to  as- 
sume the  command  his  chire  amie  had  procured  for 
him — his  lucky  stars  always  bringing  him  on  the  scene 
to  reap  where  others  had  sown.  At  once  the  admiral 
embarked  the  mar6chal  and  his  troops,  to  attempt  the 
assault  of  Port  Mahon.  The  garrison  being  without 
provisions  or  hope  of  receiving  any,  the  prospect  of 
starvation  induced  the  lieutenant-general  in  command 
to  capitulate.  Thus  the  strongest  place  in  Europe, 
after  Gibraltar,  fell  before  the  gaze,  as  it  were,  of  a 
carpet  warrior — un  homme  d  bonius  fortunes. 

The  English  shot  their  admiral.  The  French  over- 
looked the  valor  of  the  naval  commander  to  whom 
Byng  had  yielded,  and  the  ladies  of  the  court  vaunted 
the  prowess  and  sang  the  praises  of  the  great  general 
to  whom  Port  Mahon  had  surrendered.  Soon,  very 
soon,  he  was  on  his  way  to  the  capital.  What  honors 
and  substantial  rewards  did  he  fancy  awaited  him,  as, 
with  the  triumphant  air  of  a  victor,  crowned  with 
fresh  laurels  and  laden  with  the  spoils  of  war,  he  as- 
cended the  grand  staircase  of  Versailles,  and  unex- 
pectedly encountered  the  king! 

"Ah  !  M.  de  Richelieu,"  said  his  majesty,  "you  are 
soon  back  again.  How  did  you  find  the  figs  of 
Minorca  ?" 

"Sire,"  replied  the  gallant  duke,  somewhat  crest- 
fallen, "  I  found  them  extremely  sweet,  but  your  ma- 
jesty has  changed  their  sweetness  to  bitterness." 

As  Richelieu  was  a  favorite  of  Louis  XV.,  it  may  be 
inferred  from  this  reception  that  he  thought  less  highly 
of  his  brilliant  achievement  than  did  the  marechal's 


4^4  ^-^^   ^^^  REGIMB. 

numerous  fair  friends.  They  indeed  exclaimed  loudly 
against  the  "harshness,"  not  to  say  "brutality,"  with 
which  the  king  had  welcomed  back  their  hero  from  the 
wars.  During  his  absence  war  had  been  proclaimed, 
and  he  had  set  his  heart  on  taking  the  chief  command 
of  the  60,000  men  destined  to  march  on  Hanover. 
This  army  was  then  being  exercised  in  manoeuvres 
founded,  it  was  said,  on  those  of  the  famous  invincible 
Macedonian  phalanx,  and  which  had  been  recom- 
mended to  the  notice  of  the  king  by  the  Comte  de 
Saint-Germain. 

But  the  tactics  of  Philip  of  Macedon  and  Alexan- 
der the  Great  were  ill-received  by  both  subaltern  of- 
ficers and  men,  on  whom  the  worry  of  them  fell.  In 
vain  the  count  strove  to  inspire  the  troops  with  en- 
thusiasm for  his  system,  by  relating  how  fields  were 
won  with  their  glorious  phalanx  by  those  heroes  of 
the  B.C.  period,  and  their  destruction  of  the  Persian 
hosts  of  Darius.  It  was  voted  a  ruse  of  the  count's 
to  introduce  the  Prussian  drill.  The  army  would  not 
have  it.  There  was  now  no  Maurice  de  Saxe,  with  his 
company  of  comedians  and  band  of  fiddlers,  to  lead  on 
the  troops  to  victory.  That  great  soldier — "great 
only,"  as  Anquetil  says,  "  at  the  head  of  his  men  " — 
died  in  1750,  his  constitution  worn  out,  as  much  by 
intemperance  as  by  the  fatigues  of  the  camp. 

Madame  de  Pompadour,  like  Madame  de  Maintenon 
at  the  height  of  her  power,  nominated  to  the  chief 
commands  in  the  army  as  well  as  to  all  high  offices  of 
State.  She  did  not,  however,  follow  the  example  of 
her  predecessor,  and  make  military  promotion  depend- 
ent on  the  more  or  less  frequent  attendance  at  mass 
and  confession.  In  the  present  instance  her  choice 
was  judicious.    It  fell  on  Marechal  d'Estrees,  who  had 


RICHELIEU'S  INTRIGUES.  ^^ 

received  his  military  training  under  the  Comte  de 
Saxe.  Second  in  command  were  the  young  Due  d'Or- 
leans  and  the  Mar^chals  de  Broglie  and  Maillebois. 

The  hero  of  Port  Mahon  was  much  disappointed. 
Intrigues  were  immediately  set  on  foot  to  displace 
d'Estr^es — through  the  agency  of  women,  of  course, 
and  their  ch^rs  amis  in  the  army,  but  under  the  di- 
rection of  Richelieu  himself,  still  the  general  cher  ami 
of  the  belles  of  the  court  and  the  salons,  in  spite  of  his 
sixty  years,  all  told,  and  the  yearly  increasing  redness 
of  his  nose. 

Le  Mar^chal  d'Estr^es  appears  to  have  been  a  more 
cautious  general  than  the  dashing  military  genius  un- 
der whom  he  had  learnt  the  art  of  war.  Or  from  dif- 
ference of  mental  characteristics,  he  did  not  so  readily 
seize  all  the  bearings  of  his  own  and  his  opponent's 
position,  and,  calculating  the  chances  in  his  favor,  at 
once  make  a  rush  for  victory.  When  Mar^chal  de 
Saxe  failed  to  achieve  this,  he  usually  manoeuvred  to 
sustain  his  military  reputation  by  an  able  retreat.  And 
he  did  not  leave  this  to  chance.  He  had  a  singularly 
clear  foresight  of  the  probable  upsand  downs  of  fortune 
in  the  course  of  a  campaign,  and  while  taking  steps  to 
secure  victory  did  not  neglect  to  provide  against  ig- 
noble defeat. 

Report  after  report  arrived  indirectly  from  the  seat 
of  war,  complaining  of  the  dilatoriness  of  the  com- 
mander-in-chief, and  the  restraint  it  imposed  on  the 
ardor  of  the  troops.  Insidiously  this  was  whispered 
about  by  the  women  of  the  court  who  were  devoted 
partisans  of  the  duke  ;  and  always  with  the  "  Pray, 
don't  mention  it,"  so  customary  with  the  beau  sexe 
when  desirous  of  an  unfavorable  story  being  rapidly 
and  widely  circulated.     Jealous  officers,  and  especially 


426  THE  OLD  rAgIM£. 

the  Comte  de  Maillebois,  wrote  several  despatches  in 
disparagement  of  Marechal  d'Estrees.  It  would  seem 
that  the  military  disasters  of  France  have,  in  most 
cases,  proceeded  from  the  jealousy  of  general  officers. 
The  French  troops,  so  brave  and  intrepid,  so  brilliant 
and  ardent  in  attack,  have  not  often  been  led  by  men 
who  could  forget  their  own  petty  private  interests 
and  act  in  concert  for  the  benefit  and  glory  of  their 
country. 

It  was  suggested  by  the  Abbe  de  Bernis  that  the 
king  should  take  the  field,  to  revive  the  ardor  of  the 
supposed  dispirited  troops.  But  Louis  XV.,  at  the 
age  of  forty-six  or  forty-seven,  with  his  ever-increas- 
ing gloominess  of  mind,  was  but  little  inclined  to 
undertake  the  harassing  expedition  which  the  gay 
Lothario  of  sixty  was  intriguing  in  all  directions  to 
be  charged  with.  De  Bernis  lost  favor  by  this  sug- 
gestion. The  dauphin  also  was  desirous  of  being  sent 
to  the  army.  But  it  is  one  of  the  misfortunes  of  an 
heir-apparent  to  be  doomed  to  idleness  and  uselessness. 
Besides,  Louis  XV.  really  disliked  his  heir.  The  Well- 
beloved  attributed  his  son's  wish  to  join  the  armies  to 
an  anxiety  to  win  popularity  with  the  troops;  to  sup- 
plant him,  in  fact,  in  the  affections  of  the  people. 

The  dauphin  at  this  period  had,  indeed,  need  of 
some  distraction.  He  was  suffering  from  deep  de- 
spondency and  remorse,  occasioned  by  a  sad  catas- 
trophe of  which  he  had  inadvertently  been  the  cause. 

Returning  from  hunting  one  day  with  the  king  at 
Compiegne  (a  diversion  he  enjoyed  so  little  that  he 
was  usually  very  absent-minded  while  engaged  in  it), 
he  was  suddenly  roused  from  a  contemplative  mood 
by  a  great  agitation  and  crashing  of  breaking 
branches  among  the  trees  on  the  borders  of  the  for- 


THE  KING'S  REPLY  TO  THE  DAUPHIH,    4^; 

est.  Fancying  that  one  of  the  animals  which  had 
escaped  during  the  hunt  had  taken  refuge  there,  he 
instantly  fired.  A  cry  of  anguish,  and  the  exclamation, 
"Ah!  I  am  killed!"  thrilled  the  prince  with  horror. 
He  alighted,  and  made  his  way  through  the  coppice  to 
the  spot  whence  the  sound  proceeded;  where,  to  his 
overwhelming  grief,  he  found  the  Comte  de  Cham- 
bord  lying  on  the  ground,  writhing  in  agony,  and 
bathed  in  blood.  He  had  ridden  across  the  forest  to 
join  the  dauphin  on  his  return  home;  and,  to  avoid  a 
long  round,  was  pressing  through  the  underwood, 
when  the  prince  fired,  the  rifle-ball  entering  his  breast. 

All  efforts  to  save  him  were  fruitless;  the  attempts 
to  extract  the  ball  only  adding  to  his  sufferings.  On 
the  second  day  after  the  accident  he  died,  the  dau- 
phin having  remained  with  him  to  the  end.  He  took 
the  count's  family  under  his  protection,  and,  contrary 
to  all  usage  and  etiquette — which  occasioned  a  great 
commotion  in  the  court — became  sponsor  to  the 
count's  new-born  child;  whose  premature  birth  had 
nearly  proved  fatal  to  the  Countess  de  Chambord,  on 
hearing  of  the  melancholy  fate  of  her  husband.  The 
thoughtless  society  of  the  court  was  accustomed, 
jestingly,  to  say  that  the  prince  might  be  brought  to 
absent  himself  from  Sunday's  mass,  and  thus  risk 
being  put  on  a  diet  of  bread  and  water  for  a  twelve- 
month by  his  Jesuit  confessor,  if  a  member  of  the 
Chambord  family  were  to  make  the  request.  The 
usual  reply  to  this  was,  "  Not  to  save  France  would 
he  forego  a  mass,  were  the  country  in  flames  at  her 
four  corners." 

To  his  letter  requesting  to  be  allowed  to  visit  the 
armies,  the  king  replied,  "  Your  letter,  my  son,  has 
affected  me  to  tears.     I  am  proud  to  recognize  that 


42S  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

you  inherit  the  sentiments  of  our  fathers;  but  I  can- 
not let  you  leave  me  yet."  If  the  dauphin  was  also 
moved  to  tears  by  this  affecting  answer  to  his  request, 
they  must  have  been  tears  of  bitterness  for  the  bond- 
age he  was  held  in. 

Intrigues  at  Versailles,  treason  in  the  camp,  and 
the  united  supplications  of  Mesdames  de  Lauraguais, 
Flavacourt,  and  Luxembourg,  at  last  prevailed  with 
the  king,  in  the  absence  of  Madame  de  Pompadour — 
who  was  opposed  to  the  pretensions  of  Richelieu — to 
send  the  duke  to  the  army  to  supersede  Marshal 
d'Estrees.  He  arrived  while  all  was  enthusiasm  for 
the  victory  of  Hastembeck,  which  the  Comte  de 
Maillebois,  by  false  intelligence  and  intentional  de- 
lays in  favor  of  the  enemy,  had  hoped  would  prove 
a  defeat.  But  the  able  generalship  of  his  commander- 
in-chief  had  converted  his  expected  disgrace  into  a 
triumph,  and  the  troops  received  their  new  com- 
mander with  marked  displeasure.  However,  d'Es- 
trees left  the  army  and  returned  to  Paris,  while 
Richelieu  overran  and  devastated  Hanover — demor- 
alizing the  soldiery  by  the  license  he  permitted,  and 
everywhere  levying  such  heavy  contributions  that  he 
was  enabled,  by  this  shameful  plundering,  to  repair 
his  ruined  fortunes. 

To  have  summoned  a  victorious  general  from  his 
command  to  give  an  account  of  the  unsatisfactory 
discharge  of  his  duties  placed  the  king  in  a  rather 
perplexing  and  annoying  position.  The  matter  would 
have  been  passed  over  silently  and  unnoticed,  but  the 
marechal  demanded  a  hearing.  Of  course  he  was 
exonerated  from  all  blame.  But  Richelieu  and  the 
treacherous  Marechal  de  Maillebois  and  his  ac- 
complices were  shielded  from  merited  disgrace  and 
obloquy  by  powerful  influence   and  considerations  of 


riVO  VAUANT  GENERALS,  j^2g 

family  and  a  great  name.  All  proceedings  against 
Maillebois  were,  therefore,  suppressed.  But,  for 
form's  sake,  he  was  invited  to  make  himself  a  pris- 
oner for  a  few  days  at  the  Chdteau  de  Dourlens,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  which,  having  left  his  command, 
he  then  happened  to  be;  new  employments  and  hon- 
ors awaiting  his  return  to  the  court. 

It  was  time  that  this  tottering  old  regime  should 
come  to  the  ground.  Louis  XV.  knew  that  already  it 
was  doomed.  But  he  comforted  himself  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  it  would  last  his  time;  that  he  would 
not  be  troubled  to  conform  to  any  new  order  of 
things,  though  he  exclaimed,  more  frequently  than 
ever,  "  After  us  the  deluge."  If  the  people  had  then 
little  opportunity  of  speaking  their  opinions,  they  at 
all  events  contrived  to  make  them  known  in  song. 
If  to  know  what  they  thought  of  the  respective 
merits  of  Le  Mar6chal  d'Estr^es  and  Le  Marechal  de 
Richelieu  could  have  gratified  the  former,  he  might 
have  heard  it  gayly  sung  or  shouted  in  all  the  most 
thronged  streets  and  promenades  of  Paris,  in  the  fol- 
lowing lines: 

LA  RESSEMBLANCE  ET  LA  DIFFERENCE.* 
Nous  avons  deux  g6n6raux, 
Qui  tous  deux  sont  mar^chaux ; 

Voili  la  ressemblance.  ' 

L'un  de  Mars  est  le  favori, 
Et  I'autre  Test  de  Louis  ; 

Voili  la  difference. 

*  THE   RESEMBLANCE   AND  THE    DIFFERENCE. 

Two  valiant  generals  have  we, 
And  each  of  them  a  marshal  he ; 

And  this  resemblance  have  they. 
The  favorite  of  Mars  is  one, 
As  Louis'  pet  the  other's  known  ; 

Here  note  the  difference,  I  pray. 


430  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

Dans  la  guerre  ils  ont  tous  deux 
Fait  divers  exploits  fameux  ; 

Voil^  la  ressemblance. 
A  I'un  Mahon  s'est  soumis, 
Par  I'autre  il  eiit  6t6  pris  ; 

Voili  la  diff6rence. 

Que  pour  eux  dans  les  combats 
La  gloire  eut  toujours  d'appas  ; 

Voila  la  ressemblance. 
L'un  centre  les  ennemis, 
L'autre  contre  les  maris  ; 

Voila  la  difference. 

D'etre  utile  k  notre  roi 
Tous  deux  se  font  une  loi ; 

Voila  la  ressemblance. 
A  Cyth^re  l'un  le  sert, 
Et  l'autre  sur  le  Weser  •, 

Voil^  la  difference. 

Famous  for  deeds  they  each  have  done, 
In  various  battles  fought  and  won  ; 

And  this  resemblance  have  they. 
Port  Mahon  did  to  him  surrender, 
When  this  one  starved  its  last  defender ; 

Here  note  the  difference,  I  pray. 

To  these  two  heroes,  dread  alarms. 
And  glory,  have  the  sweetest  charms ; 

And  this  resemblance  have  they. 
One  bravely  fights  his  country's  foes, 
The  other's  proud  of  husbands'  woes ; 

Here  note  the  difference,  I  pray. 

To  be  of  service  to  the  king, 

By  both  is  deemed  the  highest  thing ; 

And  this  resemblance  have  they. 
One  serves  Louis  in  Cythera, 
T'other  on  the  banks  of  Weser ; 

Here  note  the  difference,  I  pray. 


DISCONTENT  OF   THE  PEOPLE.  431 

Cumberland  les  craint  tous  deux, 
Et  cherche  k  s*61oigner  d'eux  ; 

Voili  la  resscmblance. 
De  Tun  il  fiiit  la  valeur, 
II  fuit  de  I'autre  I'odeur  ; 

Voili  la  diff6rence. 

Dans  un  beau  champ  de  lauriera 
On  aper9oit  ces  guerriers, 

Voili  la  resscmblance. 
L'un  a  su  les  entasser, 
L'autre  veut  les  ramasser ; 

Voil4  la  difference. 

But  it  was  not  alone  in  songs  and  epigrams  that 
the  people  were  content  to  express  their  disappro- 
bation of  particular  acts  of  injustice,  and  the  adminis- 
tration of  government  generally.  Widespread  dis- 
content existed;  schism  in  the  Church;  discord  in 
families.  Menacing  language,  even  when  his  "  sacred 
majesty"  was  the  subject  of  conversation,  often  met 
the  ever-open  ear  of  the  everywhere  present  Lieu- 
tenant of  Police.  Such  was  the  agitation  of  feeling 
among  the  Parisians  that,  with  a  keen  remembrance 
of  the  unceremonious    treatment  that  M.  Berryer  had 

Each  fills  poor  Cumberland  with  dread, 
And  far  from  each  he  hides  his  head ; 

And  this  resemblance  have  they. 
He  fears  the  stalwart  blows  of  one, 
He  longs  the  other's  scents  to  shun  ; 

Here  note  the  difference,  I  pray. 

Both  these  doughty  warriors  sec. 
Reaching  for  the  laurel  tree  ; 

And  this  resemblance  have  they. 
Look,  one  has  decked  his  brow  with  leaves, 
The  other  empty-handed  grieves  ; 

Here  note  the  difference,  I  pray. 


432 


THE    OLD   REGIME. 


once  received  at  the  hands  of  the  people — when  the 
haughty  and  commanding  bearing  of  his  wife  had 
alone  saved  him  from  their  violence — he  scarcely- 
ventured  to  divulge  in  high  quarters,  except  to  his 
patroness,  Madame  de  Pompadour,  the  disturbed  state 
of  the  public  mind. 

To  avert  further  displeasure  at  the  increase  of  the 
imposts — necessitated  by  the  expenses  of  the  war — 
the  duchess  suggested  to  the  king  the  advisability  of 
setting  an  example  of  economy  to  the  court,  by  re- 
ducing the  expenditure  of  the  royal  household.  She 
hoped  that  the  nobility,  who  contributed  nothing  to 
the  support  of  the  State,  might  at  least  be  induced  to 
make  the  burden  of  taxation  less  onerous  to  the  ten- 
ants of  their  estates,  by  remitting  something  of  their 
own  exactions.  She  at  once  introduced  the  system 
on  her  own  domains.  Few,  probably,  followed  her 
lead,  or  posterity  would  have  heard  more  of  the  self- 
sacrificing  grandees.  The  king,  at  her  request,  con- 
sented to  put  down  several  hunting  equipages,  at  least 
during  the  campaign;  and  to  utilize  for  that  purpose 
a  portion  of  the  numerous  stud  kept  up  at  each  of  the 
royal  hunting-establishments. 

The  frequent  journeys  he  was  accustomed  to  make 
to  Compiegne,  which  he  was  rebuilding,  to  Fontaine- 
bleau,  Choisy,  and  other  places,  in  order  to  dispel  his 
ennui  by  change  of  scene  and  residence,  were,  while 
the  war  lasted,  to  occur  at  longer  intervals,  and  with 
less  parade  and  diminished  retinue.  There  were  to 
be  no  theatricals  at  Versailles,  and  the  works  then  in 
progress  at  the  Louvre  were  to  be  indefinitely  sus- 
pended. 

If  these  plans  had  been  rigidly  carried  out,  it  is 
probable  that  the  treasury  would  not  have  been  more 


A   STARTLING  EVENT. 


433 


appreciably  benefited  than  when,  to  supply  the  needs 
of  the  vainglorious  despot,  Louis  XIV.,  gold  and 
silver,  priceless  in  the  form  of  works  of  art,  and 
belonging  not  to  him,  but  to  his  subjects,  were  sent 
to  the  mint,  and  there  converted  into  an  insignificant 
sum  in  louts  cCor^  livres^  and  ^cus.  But  it  suited  neither 
the  convenience  nor  the  pleasure  of  Louis  XV.  to  be 
restricted  by  the  economical  arrangements  he  had,  in 
a  moment  of  ennuiy  consented  to. 

When  there  was  no  theatrical  performance  at  Ver- 
sailles there  was  they>«  du  roij  at  which  he  lost  or 
won  a  thousand  or  more  louts  (Tor  in  an  evening.  If 
he  won,  he  put  his  winnings  into  his  own  private 
purse  or  hoard,  for  he  did  not  readily  take  from  it;  if 
he  lost,  he  reimbursed  himself  by  an  order  on  the 
treasury — a  draft  in  the  king's  own  hand,  to  be  paid 
at  sight  and  no  questions  asked. 

But  at  this  stirring  period  Louis  XV.,  sunk  in 
slothful  apathy,  troubled  himself  scarcely  at  all  either 
about  the  progress  of  the  war  or  the  domestic  con- 
dition of  his  kingdom.  He  may  have  derived  some 
sort  of  languid  amusement  from  the  embarrassment 
his  private  diplomacy  occasioned  to  secret  agents  and 
recognized  ministers:  diplomacy  which  would  have 
made  both  them  and  himself  utterly  ridiculous  in  the 
eyes  of  the  European  powers,  had  not  the  system  of 
espionage,  bribery  of  couriers,  and  tampering  with 
letters,  public  and  private,  been  as  diligently  and 
systematically  practised  by  other  governments  as  by 
his  own,  and  the  king's  secret  by  these  means  been 
betrayed  to  every  foreign  court. 

A  startling  event,  however,  occurred  at  this  time. 
On  the  4th  of  January,  1757,  as  the  king  was  stepping 
into  his  carriage  to  return  to  Trianon,  having  been  to 


434  '^^^   ^^^  REGIME, 

Versailles  to  see  Madame  Victoire,  his  third  daugh- 
ter, who  was  suffering  from  a  slight  indisposition,  a 
man  suddenly  pressed  forward  and  stabbed  him  in 
the  side.  It  was  six  o'clock  in  the  evening;  dark, 
except  from  the  flickering,  fitful  light  of  torches. 
This  may  have  been  the  reason  that  a  shabbily 
dressed  man,  wrapped  up  in  an  old  brown  coat,  and 
with  his  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes,  was  able,  unper- 
ceived,  to  approach  so  near  the  entrance  of  the  Salle 
des  Gardes,  where  the  royal  carriage  and  the  nume- 
rous attendants  were  waiting.  So  rapidly  was  the 
deed  done  that  it  was  unnoticed  by  the  dauphin  and 
the  Due  d'Ayen,  who,  with  the  gentlemen  of  his  suite 
and  officers  of  the  guard  following,  were  attending 
the  king  to  his  carriage.  He  himself  was  not  aware 
that  he  was  wounded,  but  exclaimed,  "Some  one 
struck  me  violently  with  his  elbow." 

The  assassin,  Fran9ois  Damiens,  might,  it  would 
seem,  have  escaped,  had  he  wished  to  elude  detection. 
But  motionless,  and  with  an  unconcerned  air,  he 
stood  amongst  the  royal  lackeys — the  dauphin  being 
the  first  to  observe  him.  Highly  indignant  that  "  a 
stranger  of  that  description"  should  presume  to  ap- 
proach the  king,  he  called  to  him,  in  an  angry  tone, 
"Don't  you  see  the  king?"  At  the  same  moment 
the  man's  hat  was  knocked  from  his  head  by  the  bay- 
onet of  one  of  the  body-guards,  and  the  principal 
equerry  seized  him  by  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  shook 
him  violently.  Not  the  slightest  resistance  did  he 
make  to  this  treatment,  and  not  a  word  did  he  utter. 

It  was  then  only  that  the  king,  having  placed  his 
hand  on  his  side,  discovered  blood  upon  it.  "  I  am 
wounded,"  he  said;  "this  man  has  stabbed  me! 
Arrest  him,  but  don't  kill  him."     The  wound  was  a 


CONFESSED  AND  ABSOLVED. 


435 


slight  one,  probably  owing  to  the  many  wraps  in 
which  the  king  was  muffled  up,  on  account  of  the 
severity  of  the  weather.  He  was  able  without  assist- 
ance to  walk  up  the  grand  staircase.  But  what  seems 
remarkable — as  he  resided  habitually  at  Versailles — a 
French  account  of  this  event,  by  a  contemporary, 
states  "there  was  no  change  of  linen  to  be  had  for  the 
king,  or  a  valet  de  chambre  to  attend  him,  as  he  was 
then  staying  for  a  few  days  at  Trianon."  His  ma- 
jesty's stock  of  underclothing,  one  must  therefore  in- 
fer, was  but  a  small  one,  and  rigid  etiquette  of  course 
forbade  the  use  of  the  dauphin's  shirts,  even  in  a  case 
of  such  emergency. 

However,  Louis,  who  began  to  feel  rather  faint, 
was  at  last  undressed.  Priests  and  physicians  soon 
after  arrived.  The  latter  immediately  bled  him, 
though  he  had  already  lost  much  blood.  Always 
greatly  alarmed  at  the  idea  of  death,  he  unceasingly 
demanded  his  Jesuit  confessor  and  the  holy  oils. 
The  commotion  in  the  palace  reached  the  apartment 
of  the  queen,  who,  being  informed  that  the  king  was 
taken  ill,  hastened  to  him.  "  Madame,  I  have  been 
assassinated!"  he  replied  several  times  to  her  anxious 
inquiries.  The  penknife  wound  in  his  side  had  been 
dressed,  and  he  had  been  placed  in  a  bed  "  without 
sheets "  (surely  the  queen  might  have  lent  him  a 
pair),  and  Doctor  Lamartiniere  had  pronounced  that 
the  wound  was  not  deep,  and  his  majesty's  precious 
life  in  no  danger. 

But  neither  king,  queen,  nor  dauphin  could  be  paci- 
fied until,  in  the  course  of  the  night,  the  Abbe  de 
Solini  had  surrendered  the  king  into  the  hands  of 
Father  Desmarets,  his  usual  confessor.  The  ceremony 
gf  confession,  absolution,   and    the   holy   oils   lajted 


436  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

several  hours;  after  which  Louis  XV.,  with  a  clear 
conscience,  went  comfortably  to  sleep — an  ecclesiastic 
seated  on  either  side  of  the  bed,  and  inside  the  cur- 
tains; the  dauphin  keeping  watch  at  the  foot. 

The  next  day,  *'  universal  horror!" — the  news  had 
spread  like  wildfire.  "  The  king  had  been  stabbed  in 
the  heart,  and  report  proclaimed  that  he  was  at  the 
point  of  death."  All  the  bells  in  Paris  tolled  a  funeral 
knell  (very  disturbing  they  were  to  Marmontel;  who, 
in  the  garret  his  friend  Clairon  allowed  him  to  use  as 
a  study,  was  writing  a  tragedy;  and  these  doleful 
bells  reminded  him  unpleasantly  of  "  Les  Fun6railles 
de  Sesostris");  prayers  were  commanded  to  be  said  in 
all  the  churches  far  and  near  for  the  space  of  forty 
hours.  The  rebellious  lawyers  of  the  parliament  re- 
pented of  their  opposition  to  the  decrees  of  Le  Men 
azme,  and  prayed  their  president  to  hasten  to  Ver- 
sailles, to  lay  at  the  feet  of  their  sovereign  their  hom- 
age and  duty,  and  expressions  of  heart-felt  sympathy. 

Damiens,  over  whom  it  had  been  thought  necessary 
to  place  a  guard  of  sixty  soldiers,  wrote  to  the  king: 

"  Sire,  I  am  sorry  that  I  was  so  unfortunate  as  to 
gain  access  to  you;  but  if  you  do  not  take  your  peo- 
ple's part,  before  many  years  you,  and  the  dauphin, 
and  many  others  will  perish." 

This  letter  added  to  the  fears  of  the  king,  and  served 
well  the  purposes  of  both  Jesuit  priests  and  the  in- 
triguers of  both  sexes  at  court.  A  repetition  of  the 
scene  at  Metz,  with  Pompadour  for  Chateauroux,  was 
fully  expected.  Comte  d'Argenson  had  the  folly  pre- 
maturely to  rejoice  in  his  long-looked-for  triumph. 
But  though  Louis  would  give  no  positive  order  for 
Madame  de  Pompadour's  retirement  from  the  court, 
he  allowed  it  to  be  intimated  to  her  that  she  would  dQ 


tHE  FORCE  OF  HABIT.  43*^ 

well  to  retire  and  avoid  the  mortification  of  being  dis- 
missed. For  as  the  soreness  of  his  healing  wound 
more  or  less  troubled  him,  so  did  he  balance  between 
resisting  or  yielding  to  the  advice  of  those  about  him. 
The  minister  who  undertook  to  intimate  to  her  this 
disgrace  was  the  man  who  owed  his  position  to  her 
favor  and  influence,  M.  Machault.  And  he  appears  to 
have  executed  his  commission  so  offensively  that  it 
was  replied  to  much  in  the  same  strain  as  the  Pere  de 
Sacy's  letter.  "Madame  de  Pompadour  received  no 
orders  from  those  who  were  accustomed  to  obey  her.'* 
**  A  lackey,"  she  said,  "  would  be  turned  out  of  the 
house  with  more  consideration." 

M.  Machault  was  himself  destined  to  be  turned  out 
of  the  house.  The  king  had  kept  his  bed  fifteen  days, 
with  little  occasion  to  keep  it  more  than  fifteen  hours. 
Beginning  to  be  tired  of  this,  he  arose  and,  from  force 
of  habit,  went,  for  distraction,  to  the  apartments  of 
Madame  de  Pompadour.  Before  he  left,  there  were 
on  their  way  to  the  ministers,  Machault  and  d'Argen- 
son,  two  private  notes,  which  ran  thus: 

"I  no  longer  require  your  services;  I  command  you 
to  send  me  your  resignation  as  secretary  of  state,  of 
war,  etc.,  etc. 

*'  You  will  retire  to  your  estates. 

(Signed)  "Louis." 

The  wretched  Damiens,  after  near  three  months' im- 
prisonment, was  executed  with  barbarities  that  make 
the  blood  run  cold  to  read  of  them;  the  worthless, 
contemptible  Louis  XV.  having  neither  the  magna- 
nimity to  pardon  the  man  nor  the  clemency  to  order 
any  mitigation  of  the  horrid  tortures  inflicted  upon 
him,  which  an  executioner,  in  full  court  dress,  stood 


43§  ^-^^  OLD  MG1M&, 

by  to  witness,  and  to  ensure  their  being  unsparingly 
heaped  on  the  unfortunate  creature. 

The  city  of  Amiens  presented  a  petition,  at  the  in- 
stance of  M.  Gresset,  the  author  of  "  Vert  Vert,"  to 
be  allowed  to  change  its  name  to  Louisville;  but  the 
Bishop  of  Amiens  had  the  good  sense  to  interfere,  and 
the  good  people  of  Amiens  were  not  gratified  in  their 
wish  to  perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  their  ful- 
some folly. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Voltaire,  en  Grand  Seigneur. — Voltaire  at  Femey. — Pretty  Ma- 
dame du  Bocage. — A  Pilgrimage  to  Ferncy. — Death  of "  Cher 
Fontenelle." — Walpole  and  Madame  du  Deflfant. — "  L'Orph6- 
lin  de  la  Chine." — **  L'Orph61in"  and  the  Jesuits.— War  k 
Outrance. — **  De  TEsprit"  of  Helvetius. — Jesuits  and  Jansen> 
ists. — A  Grand  Auto-da-F6. — Philosophism  and  Loyalty.— 
A  Sojourn  in  the  Bastille. — "  He  is  a  Strangre  Man."— Philos- 
opher and  Critic. 

It  was  hinted  to  Louis  XV.  that  Voltaire  would 
like  to  return  to  Paris.  He  replied  curtly,  "  Let  him 
stay  where  he  is."  The  poet  was  then  at  the  Chdteau 
de  Prangin,  in  the  Canton  de  Vaud,  elaborating,  at 
the  suggestion  of  his  friend  d'Argental,  his  play  of 
"  L'Orph^lin  de  la  Chine,"  from  three  acts,  in  which 
it  was  first  written,  to  five.  Voltaire  had  discovered, 
from  unpleasant  experience,  that  the  favors  of  the 
royal  philosopher  of  Potsdam  were  more  than  coun- 
terbalanced by  the  mortification ^  that  invariably  fol- 
lowed them.  The  honors  and  dignities  with  which 
he  had  been  invested  he  had  been  glad  to  resign,  and 
with  his  niece  and  his  secretary,  after  some  skirmishes 
in  doggerel  verse,  he  had  made  an  ignominious  retreat 
from  the  Prussian  territory — eventually  taking  up  his 
quarters  in  Switzerland. 

Through  fortunate  commercial  and  monetary  specu- 
lations, the  competency  he  had  inherited  from  his 
father  had  grown   into  an  ample  fortune.     His  writ- 


440  ^^^   OLD  REGIME. 

ings  had  brought  him  fame  rather  than  added  to  his 
income,  and  he  was  able  to  live  en  grand  seigneur^  first 
at  "  Les  Delices,"  an  estate  distant  a  league  from 
Geneva,  and  afterwards  at  Ferney,  which  was  on 
French  territory,  without  being  at  all  dependent  on 
the  success  of  his  literary  labors.  He  would  have 
been  glad  to  have  the  title  of  count,  which  he  some- 
times assumed,  confirmed  to  him — deriving  it  from 
the  chateau  and  small  domain  of  Tournay,  situated 
between  Ferney  and  Geneva,  and  bought  from  the 
president  of  the  parliament  of  Dijon. 

The  disfavor  of  the  court,  which  had  become  a  very 
hostile  feeling,  would  have  passed  away  probably  dur- 
ing his  absence,  but  for  the  surreptitious  publication 
at  Geneva,  from  a  falsified  manuscript,  of  a  work 
never  intended,  as  sometimes  asserted,  to  appear  in 
print.  Madame  de  Pompadour,  who  appears  to  have 
been  greatly  maligned  in  this  work,  had  sent  him  but 
recently,  as  a  mark  of  her  esteem  and  friendship,  her 
portrait,  painted  by  her  own  hand.  On  reading  the 
passages  in  the  work  referred  to,  Voltaire  felt  that  a 
friend  at  court  was  lost  to  him.  "  I  am  lost !"  he  ex- 
claimed, as  he  fretted  and  fumed,  and  stamped  and 
raged;  for,  with  all  his  philosophy,  he  bore  with  but 
little  equanimity  the  minor  ills  of  life. 

But  though  absent  from  the  gay  and  busy  capital, 
Voltaire  kept  up  an  active  correspondence  with  great 
men,  M.M.  the  philosophers.  Marmontel  and  Cha- 
banon  were  especially  his  proteges  and  disciples,  and 
to  them  and  his  pupil,  La  Harpe  (who  as  a  boy  of 
ten,  when  left  destitute,  had  sought  the  protection  of 
Voltaire,  on  whom  he  was  now  dependent  at  Ferney), 
he  looked  to  carry  on  his  work,  perpetuate  his  doc- 
trines, keep  alive  his   fame,  and  defend   his  memory. 


PkETTV  MADAME  DU  BOCAGE.  44! 

To  D'Alembert  and  Diderot  he  forwarded  his  contri- 
butions to  the  Encyclopaedia;  to  the  Theatre  Frangais, 
his  new  plays — Lekain,  for  whom  the  principal  roles 
were  then  written,  going  over  to  Ferney,  where  Vol- 
taire had  built  a  handsome  theatre,  to  receive  his  in- 
structions and  suggestions,  and  to  rehearse  his  part 
with  him.  Numerous  short,  satirical  works,  which  a 
modern  French  writer  has  called  "  feuilletons  of  the 
highest  order,"  were  produced  at  this  time,  at  short 
intervals. 

Several  of  the  earlier  members  of  the  philosophic 
brotherhood  had  died  within  the  last  few  years — H6- 
nault,  the  historian  and  bon  vivant;  the  President,  Mon- 
tesquieu; the  aged  Fontenelle,  almost  to  the  last  to  be 
met  with  in  the  salons;  for  he  went  the  round  of  them, 
giving  an  evening  to  each  in  its  turn,  and  in  all  of 
them  the  centenarian  philosopher  was  received  with 
open  arms.  In  his  latter  years  he  took  especial  inter- 
est in  Madame  du  Bocage,  and  usually  spent  an  hour 
or  two  in  the  afternoon  with  her.  She  was  in  vogue 
just  then  as  a  poetess,  and  used  to  read  her  pretty 
little  namby-pamby  sonnets  to  the  aged  savant.  If, 
being  exceedingly  deaf,  he  heard  not  a  word  of  them, 
he  knew  that  his  loss  was  not  great;  he  could  still  nod 
and  smile  his  approval,  and  pat  the  little  vain  girlish 
widow  of  forty-two  softly  on  the  cheek;  very  softly, 
not  to  damage  its  delicate  pink  rouge  bloom, 

Madame  du  Bocage  had  written  a  tragedy,  "  Les 
Amazons."  It  never  attained  to  the  honor  of  a  rep- 
resentation, but  it  found  favor  with  d'Alembert  and 
Diderot,  "  the  dispensers  of  fame."  It  is  said  to  have 
contained  some  rather  bold  figures  of  speech,  ad- 
vanced opinions  such  as  may  have  been  looked  for 
from  amazons,  or  a  female  philosopher.     Henceforth 


442  TiJ^  oijy  RiciME. 

Madame  du  Bocage  was  saluted  as  the  tenth  muse. 
Her  fame  spread,  and  she  actually  carried  off  the 
Rouen  Academy's  prize  for  poetry.  "  Arrayed  as  a 
muse,"  we  are  told,  like  a  carnival  goddess,  pretty  Ma- 
dame du  Bocage  set  out  on  the  fashionable  pilgrimage 
to  the  Temple  of  Ferney,  to  do  homage  to  "  ledieu  Vol- 
taire." An  ovation  awaited  her.  As  soon  as  she  was 
seated,  down  on  his  knees  went  the  gallant  philoso- 
pher (he  now  used  a  cushion  for  that  purpose,  his 
knees  beginning  to  feel  the  effects  of  continual  sudden 
contact  with  the  floor).  Holding  up  before  her  a  lau- 
rel wreath,  "  Madame,"  he  said,  "  your  coiffure  lacks 
but  one  ornament;  permit  me  to  offer  the  only  one 
worthy  of  you."  The  goddess  bowed  her  head,  and 
the  god  laid  his  offering  on  her  fair  brow. 

She  extended  her  travels  as  far  as  Italy,  and  her 
fame  preceded  her.  Sonnets  innumerable  were  laid  at 
her  feet,  and  she  was  compared  to  all  the  stars  in  the 
firmament  of  heaven.  Flattering  letters  from  Voltaire 
followed  her.  The  little  woman's  head  was  complete- 
ly turned.  When  she  got  back  to  Paris,  she  was 
shocked  by  the  news  that  "  that  dear  Fontenelle"  was 
dead.  "  Really  !  what  a  pity,  poor  dear  Fontenelle!" 
He  wanted  a  month  and  two  days  of  completing  his 
hundred  years;  and  he  might  have  eked  out  even  a 
longer  term,  but  the  war  disturbed  him,  because,  as  he 
said,  it  put  an  end  to  pleasant  conversation.  He  dis- 
liked to  see  people  around  him  in  a  state  of  excite- 
ment, carried  away  by  feeling,  and  apparently  in 
heated  discussion.  It  disturbed  the  serene  atmosphere 
of  his  own  tranquil  mind.  In  spite,  therefore,  of  the 
anxious  care  of  his  lady-friends,  Fontenelle  succumbed 
to  this  distracting  state  of  things,  and  died. 

Whether  deserved  or  not,  he  had  the  reputation  of 


WaLPOLE  and  MADAME  DU  DEFEAT D.    443 

being  simply  an  egoist — never  (so  said  his  oldest 
friends  and  admirers)  having  experienced,  in  the  whole 
of  his  long  life,  a  single  emotion  either  of  friendship 
or  love.  "  It  is  not  a  heart  you  have  there,"  said 
Madame  du  Deffant  to  Fontenelle,  pointing  to  his 
left  side,  "but  a  second  brain."  She,  however,  had 
but  little  reason  to  reprove  his  egoism,  her  own  affec- 
tions being  no  less  self-centred,  except  in  the  tender- 
ness she  sometimes  displayed  towards  an  old  black 
cat;  and,  in  her  old  age,  a  sort  of  senile  fondness  for 
Walpole.  Self-interest  still  was  the  predominating 
feeling,  even  in  her  tender  correspondence  with  him; 
as  she  sold  his  carefully  preserved  letters  for  three 
hundred  pounds.  Fontenelle  did  not  write  letters. 
He  found  himself  sufficiently  interesting  to  be  well 
taken  care  of  by  the  ladies,  without  the  trouble  of  tak- 
ing up  his  pen  in  their  service.  Now  and  then,  those 
who  made  him  most  comfortable  he  rewarded  with 
a  neatly  turned  compliment,  slyly  whispered  in  the 
ear.  Only  Madame  Geoffrin,  as  we  have  said,  made 
demands  on  his  purse;  and,  at  her  bidding,  he  opened 
it  for  charitable  purposes  to  the  extent  she  requested. 
It  was  the  same  with  his  philosophism;  he  gave  his 
sanction  freely  to  the  new  doctrines.  He  had  been 
accused  of  atheism;  but  in  his  green  old  age  he  con- 
tributed towards  the  "  regeneration  of  humanity " 
nothing  more  than  a  little  occasional  good-humored 
ridicule  and  raillery — and  that  less  for  the  edification 
of  his  brethren,  the  philosophers,  than  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  ladies  who  gathered  around  him,  and  who 
would  say  at  such  times,  as  laughingly  they  patted 
his  hands,  "  Ah  !  the  dear  Fontenelle,  he  is  malicious 
to-night."  When,  at  last,  his  accustomed  arm-chair 
in  the  snug  corner  reserved  for  him  was  occupied  no 


444  ^^^  ^^^  rAgiMe. 

more,  his  loss  was  lamented  for  tlie  space  of  a  whole 
evening,  and  his  praises  were  warmly  sung  by  the 
beauties  of  all  the  salons  of  Paris.  In  literature  and 
science  he  held  a  very  high  place.  Voltaire  says,"  He 
may  be  regarded  as  the  most  comprehensive  genius 
that  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  has  produced."  He  might 
have  added  the  age  of  Louis  XV.  also. 

Voltaire's  play,  before  mentioned,  of  "  L'Orphelin 
de  la  Chine,"  had  been  produced  in  1755,  ^^  the 
Theatre  Fran9ais.  It  was  the  first  play  in  which  all 
the  actors  wore  the  proper  costume  of  the  characters 
represented.  Though  Lekain  and  Mdlle.  Clairon  had 
begun  and  continued  this  reform,  there  were  actors 
and  actresses  who,  because  of  the  expense  of  a  new 
and  greatly  varied  wardrobe,  could  only  follow  their 
example  by  slow  degrees.  Besides,  some  actresses 
were  fond  of  displaying  whatever  diamonds  and  other 
jewels  they  possessed,  no  matter  what  character  they 
were  playing.  Some  actors,  too,  liked  to  fancy  them- 
selves for  a  brief  space  veritable  talons  rouges  (Adam 
was  once  represented,  wearing  that  distinguished 
chaussure  of  the  nobility,  and  with  silk  stockings,  dia- 
mond knee  buckles,  lace  cravat,  ruffles,  sword,  etc.). 
"  L'Orphelin"  was  successful,  despite  Freron's  malig- 
nant criticism;  uniformity  and  propriety  of  costume 
being  no  doubt  in  its  favor. 

Two  years  after,  the  king  having  become  timid, 
suspicious,  and  more  desponding  since  the  attack  on 
him  by  Damiens,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour's  task 
more  arduous  than  before,  it  was  proposed  that  the 
actors  of  the  Theatre  Frangais  should,  for  his  amuse- 
ment, play  at  Versailles  "  L'Orphelin  de  la  Chine." 
The  dauphin  and  the  Jesuits  were  opposed  to  it,  and, 
as  usual,  poor  Marie  Leczinska  was  put  forward  as  a 


PTA^  A   OUTDANCE.  4^5 

suppliant,  praying  that  the  king  would  not  set  his  sub- 
jects so  bad  an  example  as  to  sanction  a  play  so  pro- 
fane. There  were  passages  in  it,  she  said,  unfavorable 
to  religion  and  to  his  own  royal  authority.  Louis 
consoled  her  with  the  assurance  that  he  would  then 
and  ever  protect  the  religion  of  the  State;  and  M.  de 
Saint-Florentin  waited  upon  her  with  a  copy  of  the 
play,  authorized  to  strike  out  all  that  the  queen  ob- 
jected to.  She  acknowledged  that  she  had  not  read  a 
line  of  it,  but  implored  him  to  suppress  the  equivocal 
passages  which  she  understood  it  contained.  Her 
Polish  confessor — for  she  would  always  confess  in  the 
Polish  language — not  having  been  present  at  this 
interview,  the  queen,  by  his  orders,  was  the  next 
morning  again  on  her  knees  before  the  king.  Again 
he  raised  his  suppliant  wife  and  embraced  her  with 
apparent  affection,  and  she  went  her  way  consoled. 
But  on  the  following  evening  "  L'Orphelin  de  la 
Chine"  was  performed,  and  met  with  great  approval. 
Some  omissions  had  probably  been  made;  while  the 
costumes  giving  greater  vividness  to  the  scene,  this 
novelty  in  some  degree  prevented  a  too  strict  atten- 
tion being  paid,  by  otherwise  watchful  ears,  to  the 
sarcasm  slightly  lurking  in  the  utterances  of  some  of 
the  characters. 

But  if  Voltaire's  play  escaped  suppression,  an  op- 
portunity soon  offered  of  attacking  the  prevailing 
philosophism  under  another  form.  The  dauphin,  for- 
bidden the  display  of  his  military  prowess  in  combat- 
ing the  philosophic  king  of  Prussia,  resolved  to  wage 
war  d,  outrance  against  the  sect  whose  doctrines  had 
not  only  invaded  the  salons^  but  were  rapidly  infest- 
ing all  classes  of  society. 

The  elder  Helvetius  had   been  dead  some  two  or 


446  THE   OLD  REGIME, 

three  years  when,  in  1758,  his  son  presented  copies  of 
his  work,  "  De  TEsprit,"  to  the  king,  queen,  and 
dauphin,  to  Madame  de  Pompadour  and  other  per- 
sons of  the  court.  It  had  been  printed  at  the  Louvre, 
"with  the  approval  and  permission  of  the  king."  M. 
Tercier  was  then  censor.  He  had  not  troubled  him- 
self to  examine  the  work,  but  took  for  granted  that  it 
was  a  mere  harmless  jeu  (T esprit.  The  presentation 
copies  were  very  graciously  received  by  the  royal 
family;  but  to  the  dauphin  alone,  probably,  it  occurred 
to  read  the  book. 

Oh,  horror!  he  turned  to  the  title-page.  Could  he 
believe  his  eyes!  "  By  approbation  and  permission  of 
the  king"!  "  I'm  going  to  show  the  queen  what  fine 
things  her  steward  publishes,"  he  exclaimed  to  the 
astonished  dauphine,  as,  book  in  hand,  he  rushed  out 
of  the  room  and  made  for  the  queen's  apartments. 
Great  was  her  majesty's  alarm;  and  while  the  dauphin 
hastened  to  the  king  to  denounce  Helvetius  and  his 
book,  she  sent  for  her  confessor.  Absolution  was 
needed  for  her  thoughtless  acceptance  of  so  impious 
an  offering.  The  king,  too,  shuddered.  "  Let  the 
privilege  be  instantly  revoked,"  he  cried — "  Je  le  veux, 
and  Tercier  be  put  under  arrest."  The  King's  Council 
forthwith  assembled,  and  a  decree  was  issued  declar- 
ing it  punishable  with  death  to  publish  any  book  or 
pamphlet  containing  an  attack  on  religion.  At  the 
same  time  the  Encyclopaedia  was  denounced  in  the 
Parliament,  and  the  privilege  granted  to  d'Alembert 
by  M.  d'Argenson  withdrawn. 

The  Jesuits  intrigued  with  great  energy  at  this  mo- 
ment, hoping  to  maintain  their  footing  in  France. 
The  Jansenists  were  as  vigorously  doing  their  best  to 
oppose  them,  even  to  giving   their   support   to   the 


A   GRAND  AUT0-DA-F£.  447 

Encyclopaedists.  "  De  TEsprit" — in  which,  as  already 
observed,  Diderot  is  supposed  to  have  greatly  aided 
Helvetius — was,  like  its  reputed  author,  refined  in 
tone,  elevated  in  sentiment;  while  the  acknowledged 
writings  of  Diderot  were  violent,  coarse,  and  repulsive. 
Yet  he  is  said  to  have  concealed  under  an  unattractive 
exterior  a  fine  nature  and  generous  feelings.  "  De 
I'Esprit,"  suggested  by  "  L'Esprit  des  Lois,"  was  an 
exposition  of  the  peculiar  character  of  the  epicurean 
philosophy,  as  understood  by  Helvetius — a  system  of 
virtue  and  happiness  practicable  only  by  the  rich, 
unless,  indeed,  every  man  were  as  large-hearted  as 
Helvetius  himself. 

The  Jesuits  would  have  burnt  this  kindly  natured 
philosopher,  could  they  have  had  their  way.  Others, 
more  merciful,  would  only  have  hanged  him.  But 
taking  into  consideration  that  to  adopt  measures  too 
harsh  towards  the  offending  philosophers  would  revive 
the  lately  quelled  dissensions  of  the  Parliament  and 
the  Church,  and  their  resistance  to  the  king's  decrees 
(for  after  Louis  XV.  was  attacked  by  Damiens  all 
parties  had  agreed  to  forgive  and  forget  the  past)  it 
was  determined  to  order  only  an  auto-da-f^  of  the 
books,  to  serve  as  effigies  of  their  authors.  The  two 
published  volumes,  A — B,  of  the  Encyclopaedia,  "  De 
I'Esprit,"  and  half  a  dozen  anonymous  pamphlets 
were,  by  the  hand  of  the  public  executioner,  then 
consigned  to  the  flames.  Two  or  three  obscure  indi- 
viduals also,  who  had  too  openly  expressed  their  feel- 
ings, were  lodged  for  awhile  in  the  Bastille.  Helvetius 
— of  whom  Voltaire  says  "  he  was  a  true  philosopher, 
who  has  been  persecuted  on  account  of  a  book  and  his 
virtue" — immediately,  on  hearing  of  the  commotion 
raised  by  the  intrusion  of  esprit  into  the  royal  house- 


448  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

hold,  resigned  his  post  of  queen's  steward,  and  left 
Paris  to  enjoy,  undisturbed  for  a  time,  the  pleasures 
of  life  at  his  chateau  of  Vore.  Tercier,  liberated  from 
arrest,  gave  up  the  office  of  censor.  He  was  dismissed 
from  the  appointment  he  also  held  in  the  Bureau  of 
Foreign  Affairs.  But  singularly  enough,  the  king 
took  him  into  his  confidence  and  gave  him  the  direc- 
tion of  the  secret  correspondence. 

"  De  I'Esprit,"  which  pictured  happiness  under  an 
aspect  so  different  from  that  of  the  savagism  of 
Jean-Jacques  Rousseau,  was  near  being  attacked  by 
''''rhomme  de  la  nature^''  but  the  government  prosecu- 
tion induced  him  to  refrain.  Christophe  de  Beaumont 
and  other  prelates  launched  their  thunderbolts  against 
it  from  every  pulpit  of  Paris  and  Versailles  and  place 
of  importance  in  the  land.  The  Pope,  Clement  XIII., 
said  of  it,  "  That  it  combined  every  kind  of  poison 
which  could  be  found  in  modern  books."  "De 
I'Esprit,"  in  consequence,  became  so  widely  known, 
and  so  anxiously  sought  after,  that  it  was  speedily 
translated  into  every  European  language.  Edition 
after  edition  of  the  work  was  smuggled  into  France 
from  Amsterdam  and  Geneva,  and  was  immediately 
bought  up — so  largely  and  eagerly  was  it  in  demand. 

Hoping  to  put  a  stop  to  this,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  extirpate  philosophism,  the  dauphin,  at  the  King's 
Council,  proposed  that  sentence  of  exile  should  be 
pronounced  against  the  Encyclopaedists.  The  king 
hesitated  to  take  so  decided  a  step,  and  withheld  his 
consent  until,  as  he  said,  he  should  have  reflected 
upon  it.  In  the  meanwhile  he  consulted  with  Madame 
de  Pompadour.  Her  advice,  supported  by  the  opinion 
of  the  Due  de  Choiseul — just  returned  from  Vienna, 
and  about  to  take  the  direction  of  foreign  affairs — led 


PHILOSOPHISM  AND  LOYALTY.  449 

him  to  decline  to  accede  to  the  dauphin's  proposal, 
conceiving  it,  as  he  informed  him,  fraught  with  dan- 
ger to  the  peace  of  the  kingdom.  But  the  king  was 
more  intent  on  checking  the  authoritative  tone  as- 
sumed by  the  prince  in  the  council-chamber  than  con- 
cerned with  the  acts  of  the  philosophers. 

Louis  XV.  could  never  divest  himself  of  the  idea 
that  every  act  of  the  dauphin  was  inspired  by  a  yearn- 
ing for  popularity;  which  he  regarded  as  seeking  to 
supplant  him  in  the  affections  of  his  people.  That 
some  feeling  of  attachment  to  the  once  "  Well-beloved  " 
of  the  nation  still  lingered  in  the  hearts  of  the  people 
had  recently  been  evident,  in  the  general  horror  and 
consternation  expressed  by  them  when  the  life  of  their 
sovereign  was  supposed  to  be  in  danger  from  the  at- 
tack of  an  assassin.  Philosophism,  therefore,  had  not 
yet  extirpated  loyalty  and  a  veneration  for  the  throne; 
though  he  who  sat  upon  it  was  so  unworthy  a  repre- 
sentative of  kingly  power. 

But  to  attempt  at  this  crisis  rigorously  to  extirpate 
philosophism  might,  possibly,  have  served  only  to 
hasten  on  those  heavy  disasters  which  Louis  XV.  was 
far-seeing  enough  to  discern  that  his  own  vices,  added 
to  those  of  his  predecessor,  were  surely  preparing  for 
the  future  of  France.  Instead,  therefore,  of  "  After 
us  the  deluge,"  as  he  was  constantly  exclaiming,  the 
national  calamities,  in  whatever  form  they  might 
come,  might  haply,  as  he  saw,  fall  on  his  own  head. 

Let,  then,  the  dauphin  amuse  himself  by  denouncing 
their  books,  and  let  a  bonfire  be  made  of  them  in  the 
Place  de  Greve;  but  as  for  the  philosophers  them- 
selves, notwithstanding  the  decreed  penalty  of  death, 
not  a  hair  of  their  heads  shall  be  singed.  If  one  of 
their  number  should  perchance  be  requested  to  sojourn 


4Sf> 


THE  OLD  R£:GIME. 


for  a  week  or  ten  days  in  the  Bastille,  let  him  have 
comfortable  quarters;  a  sumptuous  table  provided, 
and  a  cordon  bleu  for  his  chef.  No  fasting  on  Fridays, 
except  the  soupe  maigre  that  his  servant  will  eat  for 
him.  Let  him  have  writing  materials,  flowers,  and 
music,  and  all  the  forbidden  philosophical  books.  In 
a  word,  let  nothing  be  wanting  to  make  his  visit 
pleasant.  Such  was  the  liberal  treatment  Marmontel 
received  when,  for  "  Belisarius"  and  "  Les  Incas  de 
Peru,"  he  was  provided  with  quarters  for  ten  days  in 
the  renowned  royal  fortress.  He  had  really  a  pleas- 
ant time  of  it ;  and  pursued  his  literary  occupations 
undisturbed  by  the  street  cries  that  so  wofully  an- 
noyed him  in  his  attic  study  in  Mdlle.  Clairon's  house. 

Probably  but  for  distinguished  patronage  less 
solicitude  might  have  been  shown  for  Marmontel's 
comfort  and  convenience.  "  He's  a  strange  man,  that 
Marmontel,"  said  Madame  de  Pompadour,  after  an 
interview  he  had  requested  of  her,  through  Doctor 
Quesnay,  at  the  time  of  the  agitation  concerning  the 
denunciation  of  the  Encyclopaedia  and  "  De  I'Esprit." 
He  entered  with  an  alarmingly  tragic  air.  She  fancied 
some  terrible  disaster  had  befallen  him.  "  Madame," 
he  said,  **  that  which  distresses  me  is  the  present  state 
of  the  kingdom,  occasioned  by  these  quarrels  between 
the  clergy  and  the  Parliament.  I  ask  you  to  reflect, 
Madame,  that  the  eyes  of  the  country  are  upon  you. 
Since  the  dismissal  of  M.  d'Argenson  from  his  office, 
it  is  known  that  all  power  is  in  your  hands.  If  the 
vessel  of  the  State  be  well  guided,  the  blessing  of  the 
people  will  rest  on  you  ;  if  it  should  be  wrecked,  it  is 
you  they  will  accuse  as  the  cause  of  their  calamity." 

Madame  de  Pompadour  was  disposed  to  smile  at 
this  lecture,     But  Marmontel  preserved  the  same  seri- 


PHILOSOPHER  AND   CRITIC.  451 

ous  air.  "  Madame,"  he  continued  very  gravely,  "  we 
depend  upon  you."  He  then  made  his  bow  and  re- 
tired. "What  a  strange  man!"  she  exclaimed.  It 
is  possible,  however,  that  her  advice  to  the  king  was 
influenced  by  this  appeal.  The  philosophers  had  in 
her  a  sympathetic  friend,  and  the  Due  de  Choiseul, 
who,  under  her  influence,  was  about  to  take  the  helm 
of  the  State,  was  himself  both  philosopher  and  critic, 
and  absolutely  under  the  domination  of  the  Encyclo- 
paedists. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

The  Battle  of  Rosbach. — A  Warrior-Priest. — Soubis6  at  Lutzel- 
bach. — L'Aimable  Vainqueur. — Close  of  the  Third  Campaign. 
— "Liberty,  Equality." — Le  Due  de  Choiseul. — Braving  the 
Dauphin. — La  Divine  Sophie  Arnould. — Disappearance  of 
Sophie. — Manners  and  Morals. — The  Muse  Terpsichore. — 
The  Muse  at  Longchamps. — An  Opulent  Danseuse. — A  Real, 
Sister  of  Mercy. 

The  menacing  attitude  assumed  by  the  dauphin 
towards  the  modern  philosophy  and  its  professors 
served  rather  to  propagate  the  new  doctrines,  and  to 
gain  them  adherents,  than  to  check  their  dissemination 
among  the  people.  The  French,  as  De  Tocqueville 
says,  "do  not  easily  accommodate  themselves  to 
liberty."  And  it  has  been  sufficiently  proved  that 
heavy-handed  despotism  is  a  yoke  that  galls  them  but 
little  when  it  is  associated  with  what  is  called  glory, 
however  vain-glorious  that  may  actually  be.  The 
news  of  a  victory  over  Frederick  of  Prussia  would  at 
this  particular  crisis  have  raised  the  careworn,  dis- 
pirited people  from  the  depths  of  despondency  to  the 
glowing  heights  of  the  seventh  heaven.  There  would 
have  been  fetes^  and  fireworks,  and  songs  of  triumph 
from  one  end  of  France  to  the  other. 

But,  sad  reverse  of  this  picture,  the  battle  of  Ros- 
bach has  been  fought.  And  although  the  gallant 
commander-in-chief,  "  the  handsome  courtier,"  the 
Prince  de  Soubise,  has  managed  to  save  his  batt&ies 


A   WARRIOR-PRIEST.  453 

de  cuisine^  and  the  vigilance  and  activity  of  the  Staff 
Officer  of  his  chef,  Marin,  have  also  preserved  his 
camp  service  of  plate  from  the  grasp  of  the  bearish 
Frederick,  who  would  have  sent  it  to  the  mint;  yet 
Rosbach  is  a  disastrous  defeat  for  the  French.  It 
utterly  neutralizes  the  first  success  of  their  arms  in 
Westphalia;  and  Soubise,  "such  a  good  comrade,  so 
full  of  spirit,  so  gay  always,  and  even  so  brave,"  must 
resign  his  command.  This  is  grief  inexpressible  to 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  whose  firm  friend  the  prince 
has  been  from  her  first  appearance  at  court,  and  from 
whose  valor,  epicurean  though  he  was,  she  had  looked 
for  great  achievements. 

A  prince  of  the  house  of  Cond6,  M.  de  Clermont, 
Abb6  de  St.  Germain-aux-Pr6s,  was  despatched  to  the 
armies,  at  the  private  recommendation  of  Cardinal  de 
Bernis  to  the  king,  to  revive  the  tarnished  lustre  of 
the  French  arms.  But  the  mantle  of  the  great  Cond6 
had  not  descended  on  M.  de  Clermont.  There  have 
been  warrior-priests  who  have  led  troops  to  victory; 
but  the  Abbe  de  St.  Germain-aux-Pr6s  was  not  a 
priest  of  that  calibre.  He  had  won  his  spurs  on  no 
well-fought  field;  he  inspired  no  enthusiasm  among 
the  soldiery,  and  the  generals  in  command  under  him 
criticised  very  freely  the  orders  he  issued.  Perhaps 
they  were  negligent  in  executing  them;  for  twice,  as 
the  declared  results  of  disobedience,  portions  of  the 
army  fell  into  an  ambuscade. 

When,  however,  for  the  third  time  the  priestly 
commander-in-chief  collected  his  forces,  and  led  them 
to  Crevelt,  an  elevated  spot  near  Diisseldorf,  his 
arrangements  for  receiving  the  enemy's  attack  were 
made  with  such  evident  want  of  tactical  skill  that  a 
speedy  defeat,  with  a  loss  of  seven  thousand  men,  and 


454 


THE  OLD  rAgII^E. 


a  sauve  qui  pent  ior  the  survivors,  brought  disgrace  on 
him  and  the  military  reputation  of  France.  This 
great  soldier-priest  did  not  wait  for  his  dismissal. 
He  attributed  the  disaster  to  want  of  discipline  and 
disobedience  of  his  orders,  and  requested  his  recall. 
Singularly,  however,  it  was  the  Prince  de  Soubise, 
who,  remaining  with  his  army  until  the  end  of  the 
campaign — the  season  being  very  far  advanced — re- 
deemed, so  far  as  the  gallantry  of  the  French  soldier 
was  concerned,  the  dishonor  his  successor  had  heaped 
on  it  by  taking  the  lead  in  an  ignominious  flight. 

Seizing,  shortly  after  M.  de  Clermont's  defeat,  an 
opportunity  which  offered  of  attacking  the  Hessians 
and  Hanoverians,  he  compelled  them  to  vacate  Han- 
over, and  replaced  the  French  in  the  position  from 
which  they  had  been  driven.  Ten  days  after,  at 
Lutzelberg,  the  prince  effaced  the  stain  which  Ros- 
bach  had  cast  on  his  own  reputation  as  a  general, 
and  won  there  also  his  marshal's  baton.  Thus  ended 
the  third  year's  campaign  of  this  calamitous  war. 

But,  however  serious  the  reverses  of  France,  all  is 
well  with  the  Parisians  if  the  misfortunes  of  the  coun- 
try do  but  afford  them  a  theme  for  a  witty  jest  or  a 
song.  When  the  Prince  de  Soubise  returned  to  Paris, 
a  numerous  company  of  the  wild  young  rakes  of  the 
capital  danced  for  a  whole  night  under  the  windows 
of  his  hotel,  to  a  tune,  just  then  the  rage,  called  "  La 
danse  de  I'aimable  vainqueur."  Occasionally,  to  allow 
the  dancers  a  short  respite  from  their  fatigues,  the 
prince  was  serenaded,  to  the  same  tune,  with  the  fol- 
lowing epigram,  in  allusion  to  the  ruse  by  which  his 
army  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Prussian  king  at  Ros- 
bach.  All  Paris  (then  meaning  all  France)  was  joy- 
ously singing  or  shouting — 


VMM  ABLE  VAIN(^UEUR,  455 

"  Soubise  dit,  la  lanteme  IL  la  main  ; 
J'ai  beau  chercher,  od  diable  est  mon  ann6e? 
EUe  6tait  1&  pourtant  hier  matin; 
Me  I'a-t-on  prise,  ou  I'aurais-je  6gar6e? 
Ah  !  je  perds  tout ;  je  suis  un  ^tourdi ; 
Mais  attendons  au  grand  jour,  4  midi. 
Que  vois-je,  6  ciel !  que  mon  ame  est  ravie ! 
Prodige  heureux  !  la  voili,  la  voil4  ! 
Ah  !  venirebleu,  qu'est  ce  done  que  cela? 
Jcme  trompais,  c'est  I'armfee  ennemie."* 

Le  Chevalier  de  Mirabeau,  uncle  of  the  orator, 
was  the  reputed  author  of  this  popular  epigram. 

The  soldier-abbe  of  the  princely  house  of  Cond6, 
also,  escaped  not  the  jests  and  gibes  of  the  populace. 
On  the  quays  and  in  all  the  most  frequented  parts  of 
Paris  various  songs,  recording  his  deeds  of  arms, 
were  sung  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  violin,  and 
thousands  of  copies  were  sold  among  the  people. 
Generally  they  were  contemptuous  in  tone — for  in- 
stance, the  following: 

*'  Moiti6  casque,  moiti^  rabat, 
Aussi  propre  4  I'un  comme  k  I'autre, 
Clermont  preche  comme  un  soldat. 
Et  se  bat  comme  un  apotre. 


*  '*  With  lantern  held  on  high,  brave  Soubise  stood, 

And  said,  The  Deuce  !     Where  are  my  Corps  d'Ann^e  ? 

I  search  in  vain  !     Yet  there,  by  all  that's  good  ! 

I  know  they  camped  at  noon,  but  yesterday. 

Has  it  been  captured  ?     Have  I  from  it  strayed  ? 

'Tis  just  my  stupid  luck  to  lose  my  all ! 

Come,  daylight !    Come,  high  noon  !    But  see,  now  praised 

Be  Heaven!    My  troops  !    The  sight  delights  my  soul ! 

Yet  what !  Good  God  !  my  drowsy  brain  is  crazed  1 

The  foe  I  see  !  I  hear  their  trumpets'  call !" 


456  THE   OLD  rAgiMM. 

"  Est-ce  un  Abb6  ?     L'Eglise  le  renie. 
Un  general  ?     Mars  I'a  bien  maltrait6. 
Mais  il  lui  reste  au  moins  rAcademie : 
N'y  fut-il  pas  muet  par  dignite  ? 
Qu'est-il  enfin  ?     Que  son  m^rite  est  mince  ! 
Helas  !  j'ai  beau  lui  chercher  un  talent ; 
Un  titre  auguste  6claire  son  neant, 
Pour  son  malheur  le  pauvre  homme  est  un  prince. 
Moitie  casque,  etc."  * 

It  was  at  the  close  of  this  third  campaign  that  Car- 
dinal de  Bernis  suggested  the  advisability  of  making 
proposals  of  peace.  Madame  de  Pompadour  in- 
dignantly rejected  the  very  idea  of  peace  under  such 
circumstances:  her  promise  had  been  given  to  her 
"  dear  cousin"  of  Austria  to  support  her  cause,  and 
her  honor  was  concerned  in  supporting  it  to  the 
utmost  resources  of  France.  So  the  war  went  on. 
Another  army  was  raised  in  the  spring;  fresh  sup- 
plies were  called  for,  and  the  Farmers-general,  in 
order  to  furnish  them,  pressed  more  heavily  on  the 
people.  With  depopulated  villages  and  the  prov- 
inces sinking  under  the  burden  of  taxation,  no  won- 
der that  murmurings  arose.     "Liberty,  Equality  !"  as 


*  "  Half  in  helmet,  half  in  mitre, 
Just  as  good  for  one  as  t'other, 
Clermont  preaches  like  a  fighter, 
And  fights  like  a  Franciscan  brother. 

Is  he  a  priest  ?    The  Church  disowns  him. 

A  soldier  ?     Mars  denies  his  claim. 

In  the  Academy  do  we  find  him  ? 

There  he  sits  mute,  unknown  to  fame. 

In  vain  I  seek  for  talent;  in  vain  on  all  my  lantern  shines; 

In  religion,  law,  or  letters,  of  his  fame  we  hear  no  hints: 

A  title,  meant  to  glorify,  his  nothingness  illumines, 

Alas  for  his  misfortune  !  the  poor  man  is  a  prince  * "^ 


LE  DUC  DE  CHOISEUL,  457 

first  advanced  by  Montesquieu,  were,  though  in  a 
different  sense,  pleasant  sounds  in  the  ears  of  the  op- 
pressed. They  interpreted  them  as  being  placed  on 
an  equality  with  the  great  nobles  in  their  exemption 
from  forced  taxation;  with  liberty,  of  course,  to  con- 
tribute what  they  would  towards  the  needs  of  the 
State.  This,  in  the  case  of  the  great  nobles,  was 
usually  nothing  at  all. 

But  while  the  provinces  were  doomed  to  much  sor- 
row and  suffering,  Paris  was  gay;  little  affected,  ap- 
parently, by  the  disasters  of  the  war.  Philosophism 
throve,  and  the  "great  work  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury," as  the  projectors  and  contributors  were  pleased 
to  call  their  Encyclopaedia,  still  went  on.  The  deter- 
mination expressed  by  the  dauphin  to  continue  his 
raid  on  that  and  similar  publications,  "until  the  ac- 
cursed thing  should  be  rooted  out  of  the  land,"  fur- 
nished the  free-thinkers  with  a  theme  for  many  a 
witty  couplet;  and  many  a  witty  jest  that  amused  the 
charming  little  idol  of  the  salons^  the  philosophical 
Duchesse  de  Choiseul. 

The  Due  de  Choiseul  was  not  only  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs  and  Minister  of  War,  but,  under  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour,  he  ruled  the  State;  every  depart- 
ment of  government  being  directed  by  persons  wholly 
devoted  to  him.  Though  his  appearance  was  com- 
monplace, and  his  countenance  plain  to  ugliness,  he 
had  an  irresistible  charm  of  manner,  and  the  art  of 
fascination,  to  an  extent  possessed  but  by  few.  One 
of  the  most  brilliant  men  in  society,  he  was  yet  little 
to  be  relied  upon;  but  he  was  devoted  to  Marie 
Therese  and  to  Madame  de  Pompadour,  and  was  far 
more  influenced  by  the  latter  than  she  was  by  him. 
In  this  respect,  however,  he  but  followed  the  fashion 


458  "tHR  OLD  rAgime, 

of  the  time;  the  extraordinary  deference  which  men 
then  paid  to  women,  without  holding  them  in  very- 
high  esteem,  and  in  some  instances  utterly  contem- 
ning them,  is  very  remarkable. 

The  duke's  courtly  manners,  the  fluency  and  elo- 
quence with  which  he  expressed  himself,  and  the  talent 
or  tact  that  enabled  him  readily  to  impress  the  mind 
of  another  with  the  sentiments  which  seemed  to  ani- 
mate his  own,  made  him  a  most  acceptable  minister  to 
Louis  XV.  And  none  the  less  acceptable  was  he  for 
having  braved  the  dauphin  and  reproached  him  for 
his  subservience  to  the  Jesuits,  who  in  M.  de  Choiseul 
had  an  uncompromising  enemy.  The  dauphin,  in  a 
memorial  presented  to  Louis  XV.,  represented  him  as 
intriguing  against  them.  "Ah!  fie!  Monsieur!"  the 
duke  had  replied  to  the  prince's  energetic  defence  of 
the  Society  of  Jesus,  "  can  a  dauphin  be  so  ardent  in 
the  cause  of  the  monks  ?"  And  again,  "  Perhaps, 
Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  I  may  some  day  be  so  unfortu- 
nate as  to  be  your  subject,  but  assuredly  I  shall  never 
be  at  your  service."  The  dauphin  complained  to  the 
king.  He  replied  that  M.  de  Choiseul  had  reason 
to  feel  wounded  by  the  charge  he  had  brought  against 
him.  Such  expressions,  prompted  by  his  just  indigna- 
tion, rhust  therefore  be  overlooked. 

But  society,  philosophical  and  otherwise,  was  far  less 
interested  at  this  time  in  the  political  situation  of 
France,  the  ill-success  of  the  war,  and  the  distress  of 
the  provinces,  than  in  the  debut  of  a  new  goddess  of 
the  opera — the  youthful  divinity,  Mdlle.  Sophie  Ar~ 
nould,  whose  various  perfectl  )r\s  created  a  sensation 
amounting  to  a  fiireur.  Her  voice  was  declared  en- 
chanting, and  her  method  pronounced  perfect  by  the 
critics,  amongst  whom  was  the  aged  Rameau. 


LA   DIVINE  SOPHIE  ARNOULD,  45^ 

Her  beauty  captivated  all  men;  turned  the  heads  of 
both  nobles  and  philosophers  ;  broke  the  hearts  and 
emptied  the  purses  of  a  few  rich  Farmers-general  and 
wealthy  adorers  among  la  hauU  bourgeoisie. 

Her  parents  are  said  to  have  objected  to  her  appear- 
ing as  a  public  singer.  But  as  they  were  people  of  no 
higher  grade  than  that  of  keepers  of  a  lodging-house,  or 
hotel,  in  the  Rue  des  Foss6s  St.  Germain,  it  is  far  more 
likely  that,  discovering  their  daughter  had  a  fine  voice, 
their  object  was  to  train  her  for  the  operatic  stage. 
Otherwise  the  instruction,  expensive  probably,  of 
professors  of  such  high  pretensions  as  Mdlles.  Clairon 
and  Fell — the  former  giving  her  lessons  in  declama- 
tion, the  latter  in  singing — would  scarcely  have  been 
thought  necessary  for  her. 

Marmontel,  from  his  intimacy  with  Mdlle.  Clairon, 
had  had  the  opportunity  of  seeing  and  hearing  hei 
promising  pupil.  At  one  of  his  toilet  visits  to  Madame 
de  Pompadour,  herself  so  talented  a  musician — he 
spoke  of  this  youthful  prodigy.  He  praised  her  beau- 
ty, her  liveliness,  her  wit,  her  surprising  vocal  charm 
and  ability,  with  a  warmth  he  was,  perhaps,  scarcely 
aware  of ;  for  he,  like  the  rest  of  humanity's  regenera- 
tors, was  also  under  the  spell.  His  patroness  smiled 
at  his  enthusiasm,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  hear  the 
young  lady  sing.  The  following  day,  Madame  de 
Pompadourbeing  at  the  Hotel  d'Evreux,  Mdlle.  Sophie 
was  introduced  to  the  quasi  queen  of  France,  and  sang 
the  music  she  put  before  her  so  much  to  her  satisfac- 
tion that  she  recommended  her  to  make  her  de'imt 
without  further  delay. 

Sophie  Arnould  was  but  seventeen  when  she  made 
her  first  public  appearance;  but  in  no  very  prominent 
part.     Between  that  and  her  second  dSut  an  interval 


460  ^^^^   OLD  REGIME. 

of  some  weeks  occurred ;  during  which  "  What  had 
become  of  '  the  beautiful  Sophie '  ?"  was  a  question 
anxiously  discussed  by  the  fashionable  world  in  every 
salon.  There  were  ladies  who  hoped  that  she  would 
never  return — ladies  whose  fickle  amis  intimes  had  for- 
saken them,  to  lay  bouquets  and  billets-doux  and  their 
own  elegant  selves  at  the  feet  of  this  new  star  of  the 
opera.  But  all  in  good  time  the  beautiful  Sophie 
came  back,  and  her  d^ut  in  a  new  opera,  by  Dau- 
vergne,  was  announced.  She  was  greeted  with  a 
storm  of  applause.  All  Paris  flocked  to  hear  the  tru- 
ant prima  donna  ;  whose  fame  was  increased  far  be- 
yond what  the  finest  singing  ever  heard  would  have 
obtained  for  her,  when  it  was  known  that  her  ab- 
sence was  owing  to  her  elopement  with  the  Comte  de 
Lauraguais. 

For  a  wager  he  had  engaged  a  room  at  the  hotel, 
and,  introducing  himself  as  having  just  arrived  from 
the  country  with  a  tragedy  in  his  valise  that  he  hoped 
to  get  received  at  the  Theatre  Frangais,  took  the  op. 
portunity  of  wooing  the  youthful  songstress.  Before 
a  fortnight  had  elapsed,  they  fled  together.  At  a  petit- 
souper^  given  to  his  friends  who  were  in  the  secret,  he 
announced  his  success,  and  that  his  wager  was  won. 
La  Comtesse  de  Lauraguais,  the  lady  at  whose  feet 
the  Due  de  Richelieu  had  sighed,  and  had  obtained 
through  her  intercession  with  the  king  his  late  em- 
ployments in  the  army,  was  the  wife  of  this  gallant 
count,  now  the  ami  intime  of  Mdlle.  Sophie  Arnould. 
Such  were  the  manners  and  morals  of  the  age  of  Louis 
XV.! 

The  career  of  Sophie  Arnould  was  one  of  dissipation 
and  reckless  extravagance.  She  lost  very  early  the 
beauty  of  her  voice — it  became  even  disagreeable;  but 


THE  MUSE,    TERPSICHORE,  461 

having  amassed  wealth,  she  was  still  able  to  live  in 
some  style,  and  give  balls  and  fetes.  Like  many  other 
actresses  of  her  day,  she  was  reduced  to  great  straits 
by  the  Revolution.  But  she  was  more  fortunate  than 
some  of  them,  who  in  the  evening-tide  of  life,  from 
the  loss  of  their  property,  fell  into  abject  poverty. 

Another  theatrical  celebrity,  who  made  her  d/but  a 
year  or  two  later,  shared  with  Mdlle.  Arnould  the  en- 
thusiasm and  favor  of  the  world  of  fashion,  the  philo- 
sophic circle  and  public  generally.  This  was  the  fa- 
mous danseusgy  Mdlle.  Guimard.  The  dancer  rivalled 
the  singer  in  reckless  extravagance  and  dissipation; 
but  beauty  was  not  one  of  her  attributes.  Yet  she 
possessed  what  was  termed  **  infinite  fascination,"  and 
had  as  many  adorers  at  her  feet  as  the  fair  Sophie  her- 
self. Her  form  was  sylph-like  and  perfect  in  grace; 
and,  for  lightness  and  elegance  in  her  movements  and 
attitudes,  she  might  have  served  painter  or  sculptor 
as  a  model  for  the  Muse  Terpsichore.  Connected  with 
her  Hotel  No.  9,  in  the  Chauss^e  d'Antin,  she  erected 
an  elegant  little  theatre  that  comfortably  seated  five 
hundred  persons,  and  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the 
four  Gentlemen  of  the  King's  Bed-chamber — who  then 
regulated  theatrical  matters — she  induced  the  princi- 
pal members  of  the  Comedie  Fran9aiseand  opera  com- 
panies to  perform  at  her  "  Temple  de  Terpsichore,"  as 
she  had  named  her  bijou  theatre. 

She  gave  suppers  three  times  a  week — suppers  that 
rivalled  the  artistic  creations  of  Mouthier  for  the  petits- 
appartements,  or  those  of  the  more  famous  Marin,  for 
the  entertainment  of  the  friends  of  the  Prince  de  Sou- 
bise.  In  the  costliness  of  the  crystal  and  plate  of  her 
table  service;  in  the  taste  and  elegance  of  the  floral 
decorations — choice  exotics  obtained  from  a  distaace. 


462  THE   OLD  R£GIME. 

regardless  of  expense,  of  course,  or  products  of  the 
conservatories  she  had  built  in  the  grounds  of  her 
hotel — none  of  the  suppers  of  the  salons  of  Paris  could 
bear  comparison.  The  ^Itte  of  both  sexes  of  the  disso- 
lute society  of  the  capital  were  her  guests,  and  Mon- 
days were  specially  devoted  to  them.  On  Wednesdays 
she  received  the  philosophical  world  and  men  of  let- 
ters, and  on  Fridays  she  entertained  her  theatrical 
comrades.  For  several  years,  at  the  annual  prome- 
nade of  Longchamps,  no  equipage  was  so  anxiously 
looked  for  as  that  of  this  modern  Phryne.  In  expen- 
siveness  and  elaborate  ornamentation,  as  well  as  in  the 
beauty  of  the  horses,  it  surpassed  all  others,  as  did 
also  the  splendid  toilet  of  its  occupant. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  ostentation  and  display, 
her  admirers  have  declared  that  she  rarely,  if  ever, 
overstepped  the  limits  of  good  taste.  Yet  when  it  is 
borne  in  mind  that  this  cynosure  of  all  eyes  was  but 
an  opera-singer  parading  her  ill-gotten  wealth  in  the 
face  of  the  ^lite  of  society,  one  must  differ  from  her 
admirers,  and  consider  that  not  only  had  Mdlle.  Gui- 
mard  very  far  overstepped  the  limits  of  good  taste, 
but  that  "  the  /lite "  who  looked  on  her  doings  so  ap- 
provingly had  themselves  lost  sight  of  them.  But 
these  were  signs  of  the  times. 

In  1786  Mdlle.  Guimard  disposed  of  her  hotel  by 
lottery.  Two  thousand  five  hundred  tickets  were  is- 
sued, and  sold  at  a  hundred  and  twenty  yV^w^j each;  the 
whole  amounting  to  twelve  thousand  pounds.  This 
was  previous  to  accepting  an  engagement  in  London* 
where  she  appeared,  at  the  Haymarket  Opera  House, 
in  1789,  being  then  forty-seven  years  of  age — a  rather 
late  period  of  life  to  take  the  town  by  storm  as  a  syl- 
phide.     But  the  Opera  House  was  burnt  down  in  the 


A   REAL  SISTER   OF  MERCY.  463 

early  summer  of  that  year,  the  prima  donna  of  the 
ballet  and  other  danseuses  narrowly  escaping  a  fright- 
ful death.  Perhaps  she  felt  that  her  day  as  a  dancer 
was  over;  that  her  airy  grace  and  power  of  fascination 
were  on  the  wane.  Men's  minds  were  then  greatly 
troubled;  the  whole  country  was  agitated;  and  Paris 
in  1790  would  not  have  looked  so  complacently  on  the 
gilded  Longchamps  equipage  of  a  danseuse  as  in  1760. 
Very  wisely,  therefore,  Mdlle.  Guimard  retired  from 
the  scene  of  her  many  triumphs,  married  M.  Des- 
pr6aux,  the  ballet-master,  and  lived  as  unpretendingly 
on  the  snug  little  fortune  she  had  saved  from  the  su- 
perabundance of  former  days  as  she  had  lived  osten- 
tatiously at  the  brilliant  height  of  her  career.  One 
excellent  trait  in  her  character  should  cover  a  multi- 
tude of  the  follies  of  her  youth — she  was  truly  charita- 
ble. During  those  terrible  years  that  followed  her 
return  to  Paris  she  privately,  but  extensively,  relieved 
the  distress  of  the  poor,  and  comforted  the  sorrowing 
with  her  sympathy — drawing  upon  herself  no  atten- 
tion, but  doing  her  good  work  quietly  and,  as  it  ap- 
pears, without  molestation.     She  survived  until  1816. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Lady  Romancists. — "La  Nouvelle  H61oise."  —  Gallantry  and 
Politeness. — Lackadaisical  Vice. — Madame  d'Epinay's  "  Tame 
Bear." — Le  Baron  Grimm. — L'Homme  Sauvage  in  Love. — 
La  Comtesse  d'Houdetot. — A  Warrior-Poet  and  his  Lady- 
love.— Le  Chateau  de  Montmorency. — "Emile"  Denounced 
and  Burnt. — Popularity  of  "  Emile." — "After  us  the  Deluge." 
— "  Le  Contrat  Social." — "I  do  not  Love  You,  Sir." — Jean- 
Jacques  Marries  Therese. — "Devil  take  Pythagoras!" — Rous- 
seau versus  Ragonneau. 

Tyl^  fureur  produced  by  the  debuts  of  t\iQ  prime  donne 
of  dance  and  song  had  scarcely  subsided,  ere  a  new- 
sensation  was  created  in  the  salons  by  the  "  Nouvelle 
H61oise"  of  Jean-Jacques  Rousseau.  Works  of  fiction 
were  comparatively  few  in  those  days;  so  that  when 
ladies  not  deeply  tinged  with  the  new  philosophy  be- 
came weary  of  embroidery  and  persiflage^  and  desirous 
of  filling  up  an  idle  hour  or  two  with  a  little  light 
reading,  they  were  not  perplexed  in  their  choice  of  a 
work  by  an  embarras  de  richesses,  in  the  form  of  an 
endless  list  of  attractive  titles  from  the  French  Mudie 
of  the  day. 

Heroics  and  pastorals  had  long  gone  out  of  fashion. 
Society  had  now  so  many  other  distractions  that  it 
had  neither  time  nor,  indeed,  the  old  eager  appetite 
for  the  consumption  of  eight  or  ten  goodly-sized 
volumes,  filled  with  the  deeds  of  valiant  knights  in 
the  service  of  beauty  oppressed,  or  with  the  adven- 


"LA   NOUVELLE  H^LOISE."  465 

tures  of  a  roaming  company  of  gentle  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses  of  high  degree.  In  most  instances  the 
sHm  duodecimo  had  succeeded  the  portly  quarto. 
The  pen  of  Madame  Riccoboni  produced  several  short 
romances,  and,  together  with  that  of  Madame  Leprince 
de  Beaumont,*  drove  into  exile  the  extravagant,  but 
once  popular,  nightmare  stories  of  the  Abb6  Prevost. 
There  were  also  the  equivocal  "  Contes  Moraux"  of 
Marmontel;  the  rhymed  bagatelles  of  Saint-Lambert, 
and  of  the  Chevalier  de  Boufflers,  author  of  the 
favorite  tale  of  "  Aline" — afterwards,  as  "  La  Reine  de 
Golconde,"  made  the  subject  of  an  opera.  Aline  being 
one  of  the  original  parts  of  Sophie  Arnould. 

Rousseau's  three  octavo  volumes  f  were  received 
with  the  enthusiasm  one  would  naturally  expect  from 
the  prevailing  false  sentimentality  of  the  women  of 
the  period,  and  the  thorough  moral  corruption  that 
pervaded  the  fashionable  world  generally.  Like  many 
other  of  the  writings  of  that  day,  these  so-called  let- 
ters are  so  repellingly  dreary  that,  except  for  the 
chance  of  meeting  with  some  trait  of  the  manners  or 
feeling  of  the  time,  none,  probably,  would  be  led  to 

*  Madame  de  Beaumont  was  the  sister  of  the  painter,  Leprince, 
whose  landscapes  and  Russian  interiors,  in  the  style  of  Teniers, 
have  been  much  admired  by  connoisseurs.  It  is  related  of  this 
artist  that,  being  desirous  of  visiting  Russia,  he  went  to  Holland, 
and  there  embarked  for  St.  Petersburg.  On  the  voyage  the  vessel 
was  captured  by  pirates.  As  they  were  stripping  it  and  plunder- 
ing the  passengers,  whom  they  were  about  to  make  prisoners, 
Leprince,  perceiving  they  had  not  thought  his  violin  worth  notice, 
took  it  up  and  began  to  play  an  adagio.  He  was  a  finished  per- 
former, and  his  music  so  enchanted  his  captors  that  to  express 
their  admiration  they  returned  his  property,  and  conveyed  this 
modern  Arion  safely  to  his  destination. 

I  Third  Edition,  Amsterdam,  1762, 


466  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

bestow  a  glance  on  them,  much  less  read  through  the 
whole  of  the  collection.  Some  few  letters  of  this  kind 
and  descriptions  of  scenery  may  be  found  in  them; 
for  the  rest,  they  are  nauseously  maudlin.  The  girl 
Julie,  whose  letters  contain  not  a  trace  of  girlish  feel- 
ing or  expression  (and  how  should  they,  emanating 
from  a  brain  and  mind  so  diseased  as  poor  Jean- 
Jacques'  ?);  her  ridiculous  cousin;  the  pattern  English- 
man, Milord  Bomston;  the  amiably  imbecile  husband, 
Walmer;  and  Saint-Preux — Rousseau  himself,  no 
doubt,  as  an  imaginary  preux  chevalier — are  as  unin- 
teresting a  set  of  preaching,  whining,  miserable  sin- 
ners as  could  well  be  gathered  together. 

The  author's  preface  to  this  delightful  work  is  sin- 
gular. It  concludes  thus:  "  If,  after  reading  through 
this  book,  any  one  should  presume  to  blame  me  for 
publishing  it,  he  is  at  liberty  to  do  so,  and  to  tell  it  to 
all  the  world.  But  let  him  not  come  and  tell  it  to  me: 
I  feel  that,  to  the  end  of  my  life,  I  could  never  esteem 
that  man."  What  a  terrible  announcement!  But 
"  Heloise"  was  not  written  for  men.  All  books,  as  he 
says,  were  at  that  time  written  for  women:  to  please 
and  amuse  women  was  every  man's  object.  French 
gallantry  had  so  decreed;  or,  more  correctly,  French 
politeness.  For  it  was  also  decreed  that  a  man  of  the 
world,  while  bound  to  be  the  slave  of  every  woman's 
whims,  his  wife's  not  excepted,  should  yet  lightly 
esteem,  even  contemn,  the  whole  sex.  Woman  was  to 
him  a  creature  whose  arts  he  knew,  and  whom  he  de- 
spised, though,  as  the  weaker  vessel,  he  politely  placed 
heron  a  pedestal,  and  flattered  her  vanity  by  affecting 
to  be  her  very  humble  slave  and  adorer. 

Everything,  therefore,  depended  on  woman's  will 
and  pleasure.      No  book  could  succeed,  no  author, 


MADAME  If IPINAY'S  ''TAME  BEAR,**       j^iSy 

whatever  his  merit,  acquire  literary  reputation,  unless 
woman  set  her  seal  on  it.  Poetry,  literature,  history, 
philosophy,  even  politics,  no  matter  what  subject,  in 
fact,  authors  might  choose;  they  had  to  bear  in  mind 
that  it  must  be  treated  in  a  style  acceptable  to  pretty 
women — and  few  Barthelemys  were  there  among  them. 
The  Bible  itself  had  recently  been  cut  up  and  arranged 
in  historiettes  galanies  for  their  amusement.  Such  was 
then  the  ascendency  of  woman.  Jean-Jacques,  bow- 
ing before  it,  wrote  his  "H^loise"  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  the  fine  ladies  of  the  salons.  "  A  corrupt  peo- 
ple," he  says,  "must  have  romances."  His  own  ro- 
mance he  considered  more  suited  for  women  than 
were  books  of  philosophy.  And  for  a  time  it  appears 
they  thought  so  too.  The  one  subject  of  conversa- 
tion was  Rousseau's  book,  and  the  glowing  language  in 
which  he  had  depicted  the  fervor  of  intense  love.  So 
skilfully  had  he  varnished  lackadaisical  vice  that  in 
his  and  their  eyes  it  looked  almost  like,  or  even  bet- 
ter than,  virtue  itself.  "Ah!"  exclaimed  the  ladies,  in 
chorus — 

"  Que  j'aime  cct  auteur! 
Et  je  vois  bien  qu'il  a  le  plus  grand  coeur  du  monde. 
H61as!  faibles  humains  quels  dcstins  sont  les  notres; 
Qu'on  a  mal  plac6  les  grandeurs, 
Qu'on  serait  heureux  si  les  cceurs 
l^taient  fails  les  uns  pour  les  autres!"  * 

Madame  d'Epinay's  "tame  bear,"  as  Jean-Jacques 
was  called,  became  at  once  the  rage,  the  pet  of  the 
salons,  and  flattery  was  lavished  upon  him  unsparingly. 

*  '•  How  I  love  this  author!  Surely  he  has  the  noblest  heart  In 
the  world.  Alas',  feeble  creatures  that  we  are,  what  destinies  are 
ours;  how  grandeur  is  overrated;  how  happy  we  should  be  if 
hearts  were  made  for  each  other'" 


468  ^^^   OL^  REGIME. 

He  was  residing  at  this  time  at  the  hermitage  con- 
structed for  him  at  Les  Chevrettes,  the  estate  of  Ma- 
dame d'Epinay,  in  the  Vallee  de  Montmorency.  There 
he  had  written  his  "  Heloise,"  portions  of  which  he 
occasionally  sent  to  his  patroness,  who  greatly  ad- 
mired his  work  (as  naturally  she  would),  and  by  ex- 
travagant praises  in  the  salons  heralded  it,  as  it  were, 
and  put  expectation  on  tiptoe  for  its  appearance. 

Madame  d'Epinay  was  a  very  fashionable  woman, 
and  her  salon  in  Paris  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of 
the  wealthy  financier  class.  She  had  married  M.  de 
Lalive  de  Bellegarde,  from  whom  she  was  separated. 
Her  amiintime  was  Baron  Grimm,  then  Charge  d'Af- 
faires  of  the  Due  de  Gotha.  Rousseau,  it  has  been 
said,  introduced  him  to  Madame  d'Epinay.  But  it 
is  far  more  likely  that  he  was  himself  introduced  by 
Grimm;  for  some  years  before  Rousseau  first  visited 
Paris,  poor  and  on  foot,  his  hopes  of  a  livelihood  based 
on  the  acceptance  of  his  system  of  musical  notation, 
Grimm,  then  a  young  man  of  twenty-two,  was  a  fre- 
quenter of  its  most  distinguished  salons.  He  had  the 
reputation  of  being  the  best-informed  man  in  the  cap- 
ital. It  was,  indeed,  his  business  to  keep  himself  in- 
formed of  all  that  was  passing  in  the  court,  in  society, 
and,  as  far  as  he  could,  in  the  ministerial  cabinet  also. 
He  corresponded  with  Frederick  II.  and  other  sover- 
eigns of  the  North,  from  1753,  and  was  official  news- 
gatherer  to  the  Duchess  of  Saxe-Gotha;  the  letters  ad- 
dressed to  her  passing  afterwards,  in  succession,  to 
seven  of  the  ducal  or  electoral  German  courts.  An 
inclination  for  collecting  the  reports  of  the  day,  and 
the  facilities  his  position  afforded  him  for  obtaining 
information  of  greater  importance,  rendered  his  cor- 
respondence both  valuable  and  interesting. 


V HOMME  SAUVAGM  W  LOVE,  469 

Rousseau  was  jealous  of  Grimm,  and  of  course 
thought  him  his  enemy.  Greater  folly  still,  he  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  the  Comtesse  d'Houdetot, 
the  young  sister-in-law  of  Madame  d'Epinay,  as  she 
was  walking  in  the  park  of  Montmorency.  This  lady 
was  deeply  tinged  with  the  fashionable  philosophy. 
Plutarch's  great  men  were  daily  growing  more  and 
more  into  the  good  graces  of  the  ladies,  and  Madame 
d'Houdetot's  admiration  of  them  had  induced  her  to 
surround  the  garden  of  her  country-seat  at  Sanois 
with  statues  of  that  noble  army  of  the ////^  of  humanity. 
This  may  have  been  an  attraction  to  Jean-Jacques. 
Surprised,  yet  amused,  to  find  that  she  had  undesign- 
edly ensnared  '^V  homme  sauvage^'  \v\s  awkward  attempts 
to  pay  his  court  to  her  provoked  more  smiles  than 
frowns.  Jean-Jacques  thus  encouraged,  as  he  fancied, 
persevered  in  his  suit,  waylaid  the  countess  in  the 
park,  apprised  her  of  the  state  of  his  heart,  and,  alas! 
was  repelled.  None  of  these  great  ladies,  though 
privileged  at  this  "  epoch  of  easy  manners"  to  have  a 
train  of  professed  lovers,  appears  to  have  been  desir- 
ous of  leading  captive  poor  Rousseau,  or  accepting 
him  as  ami  intinu^  even  at  the  height  of  his  favor. 

But  Therese,  whose  watchful  eyes  had  discovered 
in  his  restlessness,  his  agitation,  and  unusual  attention 
to  toilet,  that  he  was  engaged  in  some  affair  of  which 
the  secret  was  withheld  from  her,  took  the  first  oppor- 
tunity of  following  the  gay  Lothario.  What  was  her 
astonishment,  poor  woman,  to  see  "  her  man"  in  hasty 
pursuit  of  a  fine  lady,  who,  when  Jean-Jacques  over- 
took her,  turned  round  and  with  a  merry  laugh  made 
him  a  sort  of  mocking  low  courtesy.  He,  however, 
seemed  ready  to  fall  on  his  knees  before  her,  while  she 
continued  laughing  gayly  on  at  the  poor  woe-begone- 


4)^0  ^-^-^  OLD  R&OIMR. 

looking  creature.  Therese,  as  she  afterwards  said, 
could  scarcely  refrain  from  rushing  forward  and  let- 
ting both  lady  and  gentleman  know  what  she  thought 
of  them;  but  she  prudently  took  a  different  course. 
She  made  herself  sure  that  the  lady  was  the  Comtesse 
d'Houdetot,  and,  being  fully  persuaded  that  she  was 
artfully  seeking  to  seduce  Jeaif-Jacques  from  his  alle- 
giance, returned  moodily  home. 

Of  the  reception  he  met  with  on  his  return  to  the 
hermitage,  no  record  has  been  left.  But  early  on  the 
following  morning  Therese  went  over  to  Madame 
d'Epinay  and  laid  her  complaint  against  Madame  la 
Comtesse,  who,  she  said,  was  doing  her  best  to  de- 
prive her  of  "  her  man."  Madame  d'Epinay  was  highly 
indignant,  and  bade  the  excited  woman  be  silent.  But 
Therese  wept  and  vehemently  accused  the  countess. 

"  Don't  accuse  her,  my  good  sister,"  replied  Madame 
d'Epinay,  "Rousseau  has  turned  his  own  head,  all 
alone,  without  anybody's  help." 

Soon  all  the  salons  of  Paris  were  amused  with  the 
tale  of  the  "hapless  passion"  of  ^^riiomme  sauvage" 
There  were  several  versions  of  it,  more  or  less  heart- 
rending. One  of  them  reached  the  ears  of  the  count- 
ess's  lover,  the  Marquis  de  Saint-Lambert,  the  poet. 
He  was  then  with  his  regiment  in  Germany,  with  the 
army  of  the  Prince  de  Soubise.  But  Mars  must  yield 
to  the  call  of  Venus,  and  the  warrior-poet  delays  not  a 
post  his  return  to  Paris  to  fight  the  battle  of  his  lady- 
love. Rousseau,  with  his  usual  baseness,  had  written 
anonymously  to  Saint-Lambert  in  disparagement  of 
the  countess,  who  probably  had  amused  herself  with 
a  little  flirtation  with  her  strange  admirer.  On  the 
arrival  of  the  incensed  lover,  Rousseau  concealed  him- 
self;  but   finding  that   reparation   was    seriously   de- 


l£  CHATEAU  DE  MONTMORENCY.  471 

manded,  he,  as  was  also  his  custom  when  treated  with 
the  contempt  he  so  often  merited  for  his  slander  and 
falsehood,  humbly  asked  pardon;  content  to  bear  in 
moody  silence  any  humiliations  that  were  put  upon 
him. 

On  this  occasion  he  revenged  himself  by  malign- 
ing his  benefactress,  Madame  d'Epinay.  Grimm  de- 
nounced him  in  the  salonSy  and  he  and  the  women — 
Th^rese  and  her  vulgar  mother — were  compelled  to 
quit  the  hermitage.  But  to  be  the  talk  of  the  salons^ 
to  occupy  public  attention,  no  matter  whether  credit- 
able or  otherwise,  was  to  Jean-Jacques  as  the  breath 
of  life.  It  helped  also  to  spread  the  popularity  of  his 
H61oise,  and  to  increase  his  literary  fame.  The  more 
eccentric  he  became,  the  more  curiosity  his  book  ex- 
cited. After  a  short  stay  at  an  inn,  the  Due  and 
Duchesse  de  Luxembourg  offered  him  a  retreat  in 
the  ancient  Chateau  of  Montmorency.  Jean-Jacques 
gladly  accepted  it,  and  there  he  wrote  his  "  Emile." 
It  was  printed  in  Holland,  the  proofs  being  addressed 
under  cover  to  the  Director-General  of  the  King's 
Library — M.  de  Malesherbes — whose  duty  it  was  to 
repress  works  believed  to  be  of  an  objectionable  char- 
acter. 

M.  de  Malesherbes,  however,  took  a  different  view  of 
his  duties;  though  it  may  have  been  in  accordance 
with  that  of  the  minister  in  power.  For  the  "  Ency- 
clopedie  Philosophique"  being  a  second  time  sus- 
pended, at  the  instance  of  the  dauphin,  and  an  order 
issued  to  search  the  house  where  Diderot  lived,  and 
to  seize  his  papers,  Malesherbes  gave  the  Encyclo- 
paedist a  day's  notice  of  it,  and  told  him  to  send  them 
to  his  bureau,  where  there  would,  of  course,  be  no 
suspicion  of  their  being  concealed.     But  the  suspen- 


472  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

sion  was  temporary  only;  the  dauphin  was  powerless 
when  M.  de  Choiseul  and  Madame  de  Pompadour 
thought  fit  to  differ  from  his  views  and  opinions. 

When  "  Emile"  appeared,  it  was  voted  a  drowsy 
book.  In  "Emile"  the  ladies  looked  for  another  Saint- 
Preux.  Few  persons  were  tempted  to  wade  through 
four  volumes  of  impracticable  suggestions  on  parental 
duties.  But  the  dauphin  appears  to  have  been  one  of 
the  few.  He  vehemently  denounced  "  Emile"  as  "  an 
outrage  against  the  laws  of  the  family  and  society," 
and  "  Emile"  had  the  honor  of  being  publicly  burnt 
on  the  Place  de  Greve.  This  made  its  success.  Imme- 
diately all  France  was  desirous  of  reading  "  Emile." 
Edition  after  edition  was  smuggled  in  from  Holland, 
without  satisfying  the  eager  demand  for  it,  and  it  was 
translated  into  several  languages.  It  seems  extraor- 
dinary that  a  work,  harmless  in  its  very  extravagance, 
should  have  occasioned  so  great  a  commotion. 

Other  causes  had  long  been  acting  on  the  public 
mind,  and  gradually  producing  throughout  the  nation 
that  restlessness  of  feeling  which  culminated  in  the 
Revolution.  Everything,  therefore,  that  seemed  to 
aim  at  pulling  down  the  established  order  of  things 
was  sure  of  an  enthusiastic  reception,  and  especially 
from  the  class  that  hoped  to  profit  most  by  the  change. 
But  it  was  to  the  Jesuits,  who,  through  their  patron, 
the  dauphin,  made  such  a  stir  in  their  condemnation 
of  the  book,  that  "  Emile  "  mainly  owed  its  popular- 
ity. They  hoped  to  alarm  by  it  the  conscience  of  the 
king,  whose  signature  to  the  decree  for  the  expulsion 
of  their  Order  from  France  was  still  delayed.  He  was 
terrified  at  his  own  temerity  in  this  act.  This  they 
knew.  A  very  slight  matter  might  turn  the  scale  in 
their  favor.     For  Louis  XV.  inclined  first  to  one  side, 


AFTER   US   THE  DELUGE.  ^jf^ 

then  to  the  other,  as  the  opposing  parties  prevailed  in 
the  struggle — the  Jesuits,  in  their  efforts  to  prevent 
their  expulsion  ;  the  minister  and  the  favorite,  in  their 
determination  to  accomplish  it. 

The  education  of  youths  of  the  higher  classes  of 
French  society  had  long  been  in  the  hands  of  the 
Jesuits.  Simultaneously  with  their  expulsion,  should 
such  a  system  as  that  advocated  by  the  author  of 
"  Emile"  be  introduced  into  the  country,  what  incal- 
culable evils  might  not  the  godless  project  be  fraught 
with  for  France!  "After  us  the  deluge,"  replied  the 
king — "  let  the  dauphin  see  to  that ;"  and,  after  a  little 
further  hesitation,  he  signed  the  decree.  Had  Louis 
XV.  read  "  Emile"  ?  He  might  have  taken  it  up  when 
his  fits  of  ennui  were  strongest,  and  have  extracted 
from  it  a  few  hearty  laughs.  Though  prosy  and 
didactical,  yet  "  Emile"  is  amusing.  Those  who  have 
not  read  it  should  get  it  at  once  ;  it  is  as  enlivening  as 
many  a  dull  novel.  A  French  writer  has  termed  Jean- 
Jacques'  educational — or,  rather,  non-educational — 
system  as  calculated  to  produce  a  nation  of  "  thieves 
or  imbeciles" — men  fit  for  the  pillory  or  idiot  asylum. 
Happily  it  is  a  system  so  utterly  impracticable  that  it 
may,  therefore,  be  laughed  at. 

Voltaire  tried  to  read  "Emile,"  but  found  it  too 
wearisome.  "  Your  mad-brained  Jean-Jacques,"  he 
wrote  to  M.  Bardes,  "  has  written  but  one  good  thing 
in  his  life — his  *  Vicaire  Savoyard.'  Depend  upon  it 
that  the  wretch  who  let  his  children  die  in  an  alms- 
house in  spite  of  the  pity  of  one  who  wished  to  succor 
them  is  a  monster  of  arrogance,  baseness,  and  con- 
tradictions."    Voltaire  was  probably  right. 

"  Le  Contrat  Social "  appeared  in  the  same  year, 
1762,     It  was  said  to  be  a  translation  or  development 


474  ^^^  ^^^  REGIME. 

of  the  doctrines  of  the  Anabaptists  of  the  sixteenth 
century — a  theory  of  government  as  impracticable  as 
his  theory  of  education. 

The  warrant  once  supposed  to  have  been  issued  by  the 
ParUament  of  Paris  for  the  arrest  of  Jean-Jacques,  after 
the  condemnation  and  burning  of  his  "  Emile,"  and 
which, when  he  was  privately  informed  of  it,  induced  him 
to  accept  from  the  Due  de  Vendome  the  temporary 
shelter  of  the  Temple,  was  but  a  practical  joke  of  the 
Prince  de  Conti  and  the  Marquis  de  Saint-Lambert. 
The  Temple  still  preserved  its  privilege  as  a  sanctu- 
ary, or  place  of  refuge  for  debtors  and  others,  against 
the  pursuit  of  the  Parliament ;  and  it  amused  the 
prince,  of  whose  acquaintance  and  professed  friend- 
ship Rousseau  was  so  vain,  to  immure  him  there,  and 
frighten  him  with  a  prospect  of  a  lodging  in  the  Bas- 
tille. He  affected  to  assist  him  to  escape  from  France, 
and  Jean-Jacques  and  his  womankind  fled  with  all 
haste  to  Switzerland.  He  behaved  there  so  arro- 
gantly, and  made  himself  so  offensively  conspicuous, 
that  he  was  expelled  the  republic,  and  his  books  were 
burnt  at  Geneva. 

Voltaire  offered  him  an  asylum.  A  friendly  wel- 
come, he  said,  awaited  him,  and  that  at  Ferney  he 
might  write  and  philosophize  at  his  ease.  Jean- 
Jacques  replied,  "  I  do  not  love  you,  sir.  You  corrupt 
my  republic  with  your  plays."  "  Our  friend  Jean- 
Jacques,"  said  Voltaire,  "is  even  more  mad  than  I 
supposed."  From  Switzerland  he  went  to  Holland. 
A  letter  from  Amsterdam,  of  June,  1762,  says,  "The 
arrogant  Jean-Jacques  is  here.  But  the  Dutch  take 
far  more  interest  in  a  cargo  of  pepper  than  in  him  and 
his  paradoxes."  England  was  his  next  resting-place; 
but  everywhere  he  fancied  himself  pursued  and  perse- 


jeanjacqVes  marries  ThArEse,       4;r5 

Cuted  by  a  host  of  imaginary  enemies.  He  was  hos- 
pitably received  by  Hume,  the  historian,  and  created 
by  his  eccentricities  and  "  incredible  blunders"  the 
sensation  that  was  so  gratifying  to  him.  The  partic- 
ulars of  his  visit,  and  his  disagreement  with  Hume, 
whose  family  did  not  reckon  on  receiving  Th^rese 
into  their  circle,  may  be  found  in  the  writings  of 
Hume,  Horace  Walpole,  and  other  writers  of  the 
period.  Space  is  wanting  in  these  pages  to  follow 
him  step  by  step. 

Th^r^se,  as  the  result  of  her  visit  to  England,  be- 
came legally  the  wife  of  Rousseau  at  Amiens.  She 
had  threatened  to  leave  him,  declaring  she  could  no 
longer  bear  the  contempt  and  disdain  which  she  every- 
where met  with.  So  Jean-Jacques  yielded  to  preju- 
dice. In  the  course  of  the  twenty  years  she  had 
passed  with  him,  Therese  had  acquired  over  Rousseau 
the  kind  of  power  that  a  nurse  exercises  over  a  child. 
They  returned  to  Paris  under  the  assumed  name  of 
Renou.  But  no  one  interfered  with  him;  he  had  fled 
from  a  shadow.  He  and  Madame  Jean-Jacques  lodged 
in  the  Rue  de  la  Pldtriere.  Professedly  he  was  now  a 
copier  of  music;  and  the  ladies  of  the  fashionable 
world  made  this  employment,  in  which  he  excelled,  a 
pretext  for  peering  into  the  arrangements  of  his  little 
household. 

Rousseau  did  not  like  the  English  before  he  had 
visited  their  country.  He  liked  them  still  less  after- 
wards. In  "  Emile"  he  speaks  of  the  brutal  character 
of  the  English.  "  They  call  themselves,"  he  says,  "  a 
good-natured  people."  No  other  nation,  however,  he 
imagines,  "will  ever  agree  with  them  in  this  good 
opinion  of  themselves."  He  attributes  their  brutality 
to  a  too  great  fondness  for  beef  and  mutton.     Duclos, 


47^  THE   OLD  eAgIME. 

who  had  been  reading  "  Emile,"  amused  Madame  de 
Pompadour  by  repeating  the  "fine  passage,"  as  he 
termed  it,  in  which  Rousseau  renews  the  attacks  of 
Pythagoras  against  the  use  of  animal  food.  Seduced, 
he  said,  by  his  eloquence  and  the  great  saving  of  ex- 
pense it  promised,  he  determined  to  try  it. 

He  bought  a  pound  of  cherries  for  his  dinner. 
Finding  himself  pretty  well  the  next  day,  he  dined  on 
another  pound.  Resolved  to  persevere,  though  he 
began  to  feel  a  craving  for  a  slice  of  beef  or  the  wing 
of  a  fowl,  he  continued  the  same  regimen  for  nearly  a 
week.  Sunday  arrived.  It  had  been  his  custom  to 
have  his  dinner  sent  in  on  that  day  to  his  apartment, 
and  he  had  given  no  orders  to  the  contrary.  "  I  had 
just  swallowed  a  morsel  of  bread  and  some  cherries," 
he  said,  "  and  drunk  a  glass  of  water,  when  my  cook 
and  his  boy  made  their  appearance  with  soup  and 
broiled  chicken,  beef  and  salad,  with  other  et  ceteras. 
"Devil  take  Pythagoras!"  I  exclaimed.  "Come  in, 
come  in,  Ragonneau,  you  are  much  more  sensible 
than  Rousseau."  "Rousseau!"  replied  the  man. 
"Rousseau!  My  dear  sir,  he's  a  save-all;  a  spoil- 
sauce;  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Ragonneau." 

The  Rousseau  M.  Ragonneau  so  disdained  was  a 
rival  cook;  of  whose  culinary  reputation  he  was  no 
less  jealous  than  was  Voltaire  of  the  undeserved  cele- 
brity, as  he  considered,  of  Jean- Jacques. 


CHAPTER   XLITI. 

A  Humiliating  Usage. — An  Empty  Title. — Failing  Health  and 
Spirits. — A  Wearying  Part  to  Play.-— The  quasi  Queen  of 
France. — Manufactures  Royales. — A  Distinguished  Artist. — 
Insensibility  of  Louis  XV.—'*  Was  she  about  to  Die?" — Death 
of  Mdme.  de  Pompadour. — Engravings  of  Mdme.  de  Pompa^ 
dour. 

Armies  destroyed;  an  exhausted  treasury;  ever- 
increasing  difficulty  in  levying  and  collecting  the 
taxes;  lands  lying  waste;  and  murmuring  and  dis- 
content everywhere  rife,  at  last  put  an  end  to  the 
war.  At  the  close  of  the  seventh  campaign,  the  Due 
de  Nivernois  was  despatched  to  London  with  propo- 
sals of  peace. 

Apparently  Madame  de  Pompadour  had  not  very 
closely  examined  the  Treaty  of  Aix-la-Chapelle;  for 
great  was  her  indignation,  after  having  perused  the 
preliminary  Treaty  of  Paris,  handed  to  her  by  M.  de 
Choiseul.  An  ardent  Frenchwoman,  she  would  have 
gone  forth  sword  in  hand,  as  she  said,  and  compelled 
the  English  and  their  king  to  respect  France  and  her 
sovereign. 

"  Are  not  the  stipulations  of  this  disgraceful  peace 
sufficiently  humiliating  to  France,  that  there  should 
be  added  to  the  loss  of  her  colonies  the  further  dis- 
honor of  George  the  Third's  assumption  of  the  title  of 
her  king  ?" 

"  Louis  XIV.  permitted  it,"  replied  M,  de  Choiseul. 


4/8  THE  OLD  r£:gime. 

"Incredible  !"  rejoined  the  incensed  lady. 

"  Madame,  it  is  mere  ceremonial — following  the  an- 
cient diplomatic  usage." 

"  A  humiliating  usage,  which  must  be  tolerated  no 
longer,  unless  to  the  sole  title  now  left  to  Louis  XV. 
of  '■  Most  Christian  King '  there  be  added  King  of 
England,  in  exchange  for  King  of  France,  of  which 
they  have  deprived  him." 

"  Madame,  his  majesty  is  assured,  as  I  would  now 
assure  you,  that  when  circumstances  are  favorable 
this  formal  ceremonial  shall  be  abolished.  At  present 
they  are  not.  We  have  now,  unfortunately,  to  give 
consideration  to  things  more  important,  and  which 
affect  far  more  deeply  the  honor  and  welfare  of  our 
country  and  our  king." 

The  long  retention  by  the  English  sovereigns  of  the 
empty  title  of  King  of  France  was  certainly  no  less 
foolish  than  offensive.  But  the  supposed  pretensions 
of  George  III.  did  not  excite  in  Louis  XV.  the  same 
indignation  as  in  Madame  de  Pompadour  when  she 
discovered  how  "  M.  de  Betfort"  had  dared  to  name 
his  master  in  this  treaty,  and  M.  de  Nivernois  the 
baseness  to  allow  him;  well  knowing  that  the  re- 
sources of  France  would  still  allow  Louis  XV.  to 
appear  in  the  field  to  efface  the  stain  cast  upon  him- 
self and  his  people.  And  it  is  probable  that  a  war 
for  that  purpose  would  have  been  a  popular  war, 
and  Frenchmen  have  fought  more  desperately  for  an 
idea  of  that  kind  than  to  save  Silesia  for  Marie 
Therese. 

Howe  ver,  the  treaty,  with  all  its  hard  conditions, 
was  signed  in  Paris  on  the  loth  of  February,  1763. 
On  the  15th  Austria  and  Prussia  concluded  a  separate 
treaty,  signed  at  Hubertsburg;  and  the  Seven  Years* 


FAIUNG  HEALTH  AND  SPIRITS.  479 

War  was  ended — Prussia,  though  Frederick  retained 
Silesia,  being  more  thoroughly  exhausted  by  this  con- 
test than  either  France  or  Austria.  Frederick  II.,  in 
his  "  Memoires,"  says  of  his  kingdom  that  its  condi- 
tion at  this  time  could  be  represented  only  "  under  the 
image  of  a  man  covered  with  wounds,  weakened  by 
loss  of  blood,  and  ready  to  sink."  What  a  scourge  to 
a  nation  is  a  **  great"  king ! 

Madame  de  Pompadour — disappointed  in  the  ob- 
jects for  which,  in  the  interests  of  Marie  Th^rese,  the 
war  was  undertaken ;  accused  of  having  brought 
misery  and  distress  on  France,  and  occasioned  the 
loss  of  her  colonies — after  the  signing  of  the  Peace, 
seemed  to  lose  much  of  the  energy  of  character  and 
animation  of  spirit  for  which  hitherto  she  had  been 
so  remarkable,  and  which  had  rarely  failed  of  their 
cheering  effect  on  the  king.  It  was  by  an  effort  that 
she  now  took  her  accustomed  share  in  the  fetes  and 
entertainments,  and  in  the  revelry  that,  notwithstand- 
ing the  lamentable  ending  of  the  war,  and  the  gen- 
eral outcry  that  France  was  ruined,  all  classes  plunged 
into.  Versailles,  with  its  pestilent  freshets,  had  al- 
ways more  or  less  affected  her  health,  and  it  was  only 
by  frequent  change  of  air  that  she  had  been  able  to 
reside  there  at  all. 

For  some  years  she  had  been  regarded  less  as  the 
mattresse-en-titre  of  Louis  XV.  than  as  first  minister  of 
State,  or  even  regent  of  the  kingdom;  for  so  little 
was  seen  of  the  king,  he  might  almost  as  well  have 
been  absent  If  he  ever  interfered  in  public  affairs, 
it  was  but  to  create  embarrassment;  sometimes  ex- 
pressing his  opinions  in  council,  but  leaving  them  to 
be  adopted  or  rejected  as  his  ministers  thought  fit. 
It  was  to  Madame  de  Pompadour  he  looked  to  en- 


480  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

force  bis  views,  when  he  had  any.  From  her  he  re- 
ceived, in  a  form  that  amused  him  as  chit-chat,  a 
r^sum/  oi  the  business  of  State.  Anything  like  dreary 
official  routine  had  become  abhorrent  to  him.  Hers, 
too,  was  the  task,  when  fits  of  ennui  or  weary-mind- 
edness  pressed  very  heavily  on  him,  to  devise  a 
means  of  captivating  his  attention,  and,  by  the  force 
of  brightness  in  her  own  mind,  chasing  the  gloom 
from  his. 

But  what  a  wearying  part  to  play!  What  vitality 
of  spirit,  what  inexhaustive  fancy  it  demanded! 
What  strength  of  will,  too,  to  overcome  the  repug- 
nance that  wearied  nature  must  sometimes  have 
opposed  to  this  unflagging  task  of  near  twenty  years' 
duration — a  task  whose  aim  was  the  exercise  and  re- 
tention of  power;  the  wielding  of  a  sceptre  snatched 
from  the  grasp  of  a  feeble  king;  the  direction  of  the 
affairs  of  a  nation,  and  the  subjugation  of  its  ruler 
to  her  will !  To  prepare  amusements,  ever  varying, 
for  the  king's  entertainment  in  the  evening,  when  his 
petits-soupers  were  ended  and  apathy  began  to  steal 
over  him,  her  mornings  were  passed  with  painters, 
singers,  dancers,  musicians,  actors  and  actresses — ■ 
professional  people  of  every  class.  Her  artistic  im- 
agination was  ever  inventing  new  pleasures  and  diver- 
sions "to  prevent  this  faineant  king  from  encounter- 
ing himself."  Louis  XV.,  in  fact,  when  in  his  bright- 
est moods  existed  on  a  borrowed  frame  of  mind, 
derived  from  the  efforts  of  Madame  de  Pompadour 
to  ward  off  his  ever-recurring  fits  of  gloom. 

Besides  this,  the  arrival  of  despatches;  political  or 
clerical  intrigues,  and  public  affairs  generally,  required 
her  daily  attendance  in  her  study.  At  any  hour  she 
might  be  summoned  to  grant  interviews  to  the  minis- 


MANUFACTURES  ROY  ALES,  481 

ters  of  the  various  departments;  to  receive  a  foreign 
ambassador  or  secretary'  of  state.  Marechals  and  gen- 
erals who  owed  their  appointments  to  her  presented 
themselves  to  pay  their  respects  to  this  quasi  Queen 
of  France,  on  joining  the  army  or  returning  from  it. 
The  lawyers  of  the  rebellious  parliaments  laid  their 
plaints  before  her  more  clearly  and  dispassionately 
than  before  the  king;  and  the  wealthy  financiers,  of 
whom  the  nearly  bankrupt  state  borrowed  money, 
arranged  these  transactions,  in  the  first  instance,  with 
her. 

All  this  was  patent  to  the  nation  at  large,  and  truly 
it  placed  the  king  before  his  subjects  in  a  very  con- 
temptible light;  but  it  does  not  give  the  right  to 
heap  opprobrium  on  Madame  de  Pompadour  as  the 
cause  of  all  the  vices  of  Louis  XV.,  and  of  the  mis- 
fortunes of  France.  She  was  the  most  talented  and 
accomplished  woman  of  her  time;  distinguished 
above  all  others  for  her  enlightened  patronage  of 
science  and  of  the  arts;  also  for  the  encouragement 
she  gave  to  the  development  of  improvements  in 
various  manufactures  which  had  stood  still  or  were 
on  the  decline,  until,  favored  by  her,  a  fresh  impulse 
was  given  to  further  progress,  and  a  perfection  at- 
tained which  has  never  since  been  surpassed,  and, 
in  fact,  rarely  equalled. 

Les  Gobelins;  the  carpets  of  the  Savonnerie;  the 
Porcelaine  de  Sevres,  were  all,  at  her  request,  de- 
clared Manufactures  royales.  Some  of  the  finest 
specimens  of  the  products  of  Sevres,  in  ornamental 
groups  of  figures,  were  modelled  and  painted  by 
Madame  de  Pompadour  as  a  present  to  the  queen. 
Boucher,  whose  taste  and  fancy  were  well  adapted  for 
work  of  that  kind,  sketched   many  a  charming  little 


482  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

picture  for  the  principal  pieces  of  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour's table  service  of  Porcelaine  de  Sevres.  The 
name  of  Pompadour  is,  indeed,  intimately  associated 
with  a  whole  school  of  art  of  the  Louis  Quinze  period 
— art  so  inimitable  in  its  grace  and  elegance  that  it 
has  stood  the  test  of  time,  and  remains  unsurpassed. 
Artists  and  poets  and  men  of  science  vied  with  each  other 
in  their  admiration  of  her  taste  and  talents.  And  it 
was  not  mere  flattery,  but  simply  the  praise  due  to  an 
enlightened  patroness  and  a  distinguished  artist. 

"If,"  assays  M.  Bungener,  "one  could  forget  under 
what  title  she  accomplished  her  task,  it  would  be  con- 
sidered grand  and  honorable."  But  even  as  the  king's 
mattresse-en-titre — bearing  in  mind  what  were  the 
manners  and  morals  of  aristocratic  society — there 
was  not  a  woman  of  rank  in  the  court  of  Louis  XV. 
who  had  the  right  to  cast  a  stone  at  her.  On  the 
contrary,  from  that  much-envied  though  unenviable 
position  which  it  was  both  her  fault  and  her  mis- 
fortune to  have  coveted,  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
simple  bourgeoise,  might  have  looked  down  with  dis- 
dain on  those  who  bore  the  proudest  names  in  the 
land.  It  was  no  ordinary  woman  who,  in  such  a 
position,  could  for  twenty  years  have  maintained  her 
ascendency  over  such  a  man  as  Louis  XV.;  have 
borne  sway  undiminished  in  a  court  so  intriguing  and 
Jesuitical;  and  ruled  with  ever-increasing  power  and 
influence  in  the  councils  of  such  a  kingdom  as  France. 

Bodily  fatigue  and  mental  anxiety  acting  on  a 
naturally  delicate  constitution  threw  her  at  last  into 
a  decline.  Her  spirits  drooped.  Yet,  as  long  as  pos- 
sible, she  smiled  and  was  gay  to  cheer  her  royal  lover, 
and  conceal  her  sufferings  from  him.  At  times  she 
had  thoughts   of  leaving  the  court.     "  I   weep,"  she 


*'fVAS  SHE  ABOUT   TO  DIEr  483 

wrote  to  the  Marquise  de  Fontenailles — *'  I  weep  often 
over  the  ambition  which  brought  me  to  this  place,  and 
the  ambition  which  keeps  me  here."  She  believed  that 
the  king  would  stoically  support  the  news  of  her 
death,  but  would  find  her  illness  insupportable.  He 
had  shown  so  little  emotion  when  his  eldest  daughter, 
Madame  Royale,  married  to  the  Duke  of  Parma,  had 
paid  him  a  visit  after  some  years  of  absence  from 
France,  and  immediately  after  her  arrival  at  Versailles 
took  the  small-pox  and  died.  The  Due  de  Bourgogne, 
eldest  son  of  the  dauphin,  had  a  year  or  two  before, 
while  at  play,  met  with  an  accident  that  occasioned 
his  death  at  the  age  of  ten  years.  Louis  was  but 
slightly  affected.  There  was  the  Due  de  Berri  to  take 
his  place,  and  there  were  two  younger  sons  to  take  his, 
should  aught  befall  him. 

Unable  to  bear  up  against  increasing  weakness, 
Madame  de  Pompadour  retired  to  Choisy.  Her 
physician,  Quesnay,  thought  it  his  duty  to  inform  the 
king  of  her  illness,  and  that  it  was  of  a  nature  that 
could  hardly  fail  to  bring  her  rapidly  to  the  grave. 
Louis  was  astonished.  "  To  the  grave  ? "  he  repeated, 
inquiringly.  She,  so  brilliant,  so  spirituelle;  whose  light 
laughter  and  animating  voice  had  so  recently  been  the 
life  and  soul  of  his  circle  of  intimates,  and  under 
whose  spell  darkness  and  gloom  vanished,  as  by  en- 
chantment, from  his  own  moody  mind! — was  she 
about  to  die  ?  He  was  incredulous.  But  with  more 
anxiety  than  was  looked  for  from  him,  he  would  not 
allow  that  she  should  remain  at  Choisy.  She  must  be 
tenderly  conveyed  to  Versailles,  even  should  she  die 
there.  Tenderly,  too,  he  received  her,  and  with  affec- 
tionate anxiety,  apparently,  watched  the  fluctuations 
of  that  deceptive  malady,  consumption. 


484  ^-^-^   0^^  REGIME. 

The  occasional  gleams  of  hope  became  fewer  and 
briefer,  and  on  the  morning  of  the  15th  of  April,  1764, 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  then  in  her  forty-second 
year,  very  tranquilly  breathed  her  last.  The  priest 
who  had  been  reading  to  her  perceiving,  as  he 
thought,  that  she  was  dozing,  was  about  quietly  to 
leave  the  room.  Conscious  of  this,  she  opened  her 
eyes,  and  inspired,  doubtless,  by  some  warning  sensa- 
tion that  the  final  moment  was  at  hand,  said,  "  Wait, 
my  father,  we  will  go  together."  A  quarter  of  an 
hour  elapsed.  The  priest  had  then  taken  his  depart- 
ure, and  the  king,  informed  that  his  mistress  was  no 
more,  was  gazing  fixedly  upon  her — momentarily,  it 
is  said,  he  betrayed  some  emotion. 

His  attention  to  her  in  her  last  illness  makes  it 
likely  that  he  should  have  felt  a  pang  of  regret  at  her 
death — more  likely  far  than  that  he  made  the  remark 
attributed  to  him  on  the  departure  of  her  plain 
funeral  procession  from  Versailles.  Stepping  out  on 
the  balcony  to  look  at  it,  the  weather  being  dark  and 
cloudy  at  the  time,  it  is  reported  that  he  said  gayly, 
"  Madame  has  unpleasant  weather  for  her  journey." 
She  was  buried  by  the  side  of  her  daughter  in  the 
chapel  of  the  Convent  of  the  Capucines,  then  in  the 
Rue  des  Petits-Champs,  but  since  destroyed.  Madame 
de  Pompadour  left  a  very  large  fortune.  Her  hotel, 
afterwards  Elysee  Bourbon,  she  bequeathed  to  the 
king,  with  a  very  fine  collection  of  fine  stones,  en- 
graved by  Guay.  She  left  pensions  to  her  physician, 
her  intendant,  and  others.  All  persons  connected  with 
her  household  were  provided  for  according  to  the 
positions  they  held  in  it,  and  very  valuable  souvenirs 
were  given  to  many  of  her  friends. 

The   bulk   of   her   property  was   inherited   by  her 


M/^GUA  VWGS  OP  MDME.  DE  POMPADOUR.    485 

brother,  who,  with  the  Prince  de  Soubise,  to  whom 
she  bequeathed  a  diamond  of  great  value,  was  her 
executor.  She  possessed  the  finest  cabinet  of  medals 
in  Europe,  and  her  library,  rich  in  rare  MSS.  and 
choice  editions,  was  valued  even  then  at  upwards  of  a 
million  of  francs.  The  sale  of  her  collection  of  antique 
furniture,  and  art  treasures  of  the  rarest  kind,  lasted 
six  months.  A  small  edition  of  a  series  of  sixty-three 
plates — etchings — engraved  by  herself,  after  intagli  by 
Guay,  was  printed  for  presents  to  friends,  who  eagerly 
sought  a  souvenir  of  a  woman  remarkable  in  her  life, 
and  whose  career  forms  a  portion  of  history. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

*'  Ah  !  Poor  Duchesse  !" — Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse. — Singularly  Af- 
fectionate.— A  Tale  of  Sentimental  Love. — "  Behold  Your 
Queen  !" — A  Horrid  Thing  to  have  Nerves. — The  Aristocratic 
Author. — L'Abb6  Maury's  First  Sermon. — Madame  Doublet 
de  Persan. — Distraction  for  the  Dauphin. — Death  of  the 
Dauphin. — M.  Thomas's  Eulogy  of  the  Dauphin. — Piron's 
Tribute  of  Laudation. — Death  of  King  Stanislaus. — Bossuet 
Parodied. 

What  great  question  is  this  that  so  agitates  the 
court  of  Louis  XV.,  that  interests  both  the  queen  and 
the  princesses  ?  Even  the  dauphin  is  anxious  for  its 
solution — the  course  of  philosophism  and  Jesuitism 
being  likely,  for  good  or  for  evil,  to  be  influenced  by 
it.  It  is  discussed  with  much  eagerness  in  the  salons. 
Attention  is  absorbed  by  it,  and  no  other  subject  is 
listened  to.  Will  it  occasion  a  further  expansion  of 
the  panter,  or  bring  more  generally  into  favor  the  di- 
minished amplitude  of  the  hoop  ?  Will  head-dresses 
rise  a  foot  higher,  or  descend  in  the  same  proportion  ? 

Then,  mysterious  hints,  nods,  and  glances,  with 
which  artful  womankind  often  veils  her  own  views, 
are  employed  by  many  an  ambitious  fair  dame,  to 
indicate  that  an  intimate  acquaintance  or  bosom 
friend  actually  hopes  for  a  successful  result  to  her 
persistent  efforts  to  take  up  the  fallen  sceptre  of  the 
late  duchesse. 

"  Poor  duchesse!"  sighs  Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse,  who  is 
reclining  on  a  sofa  in  the  salon  of  Madame  Geoffrin. 


MDLLE.  DE  LE SPINA  SSE.  487 

Every  five  minutes  or  so  she  does  a  stitch  or  two  of 
embroidery,  and  in  the  intervals  glances  at  a  book 
which  lies  open  beside  her,  and  which  is  Sterne's 
"  Sentimental  Journey."  This  lady  is  the  amie  intime 
of  the  philosopher  d'Alembert,  in  whose  salon  she  pre- 
sides; also  at  his  weekly  Encyclopaedical  dinners.  She 
is  herself  a  philosopher,  very  learned,  and  shares  with 
d'Alembert  and  Diderot  the  editing  of  that  wonderful 
work  of  the  eighteenth  century,  "  L'Encyclop6die 
Philosophique."  For  some  two  or  three  years  past, 
twice  a  week,  she  has  kept  Madame  Geoffrin  in  coun- 
tenance at  her  dinners  to  the  men  of  letters  and  men 
of  the  world.  She  is  the  only  lady  invited  on  these 
occasions.  Madame  Geoffrin  had  observed,  she  said, 
that  a  number  of  ladies  at  a  dinner-party  was  very 
distracting  to  the  gentlemen.  Conversation,  instead 
of  being  general,  became  broken,  scattered,  fragmen- 
tary, and  wearisome.  She  was  fond  of  unity  herself, 
and  she  found  that  her  guests  were  also. 

Madame  Geoffrin,  therefore,  took  the  centre  of  her 
dinner-table,  and  opposite  to  her  placed  her  charming 
friend,  Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse.  Both  these  ladies  had  a 
wonderful  talent  for  leading  and  sustaining  conversa- 
tion. They  played  into  each  other's  hands,  and  kept 
the  flow  of  soul  equably  flowing:  not  impetuously  to 
interfere  with  the  enjoyment  of  the  good  cheer  Ma- 
dame Geoffrin  set  before  her  friends,  but  just  enough 
to  incite  that  pleasant  state  of  feeling  that  allows  good 
digestion  to  wait  on  appetite.  She  had  no  objection 
to  the  presence  of  ladies  at  Xh^  petits-soupers  after  her 
reception.  Then  they  were  welcome  guests — always, 
of  course,  brilliant  women  and  the  flower  of  the  great 
world. 

Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse  was  reputed  of  noble  birth.    But 


4SS  ^^^   OLD  REGIME. 

her  escutcheon  bore  a  bar  sinister,  like  that  of  her 
friend  d'Alembert.  She  had,  however,  been  very  well 
educated,  and  was  brought  from  Burgundy  by  Ma- 
dame du  Deffant,  when  first  threatened  with  blindness, 
to  reside  with  her  as  companion.  She  was  then  just 
twenty.  The  philosophers  and  other  frequenters  of 
the  salon  very  soon  made  it  clear  to  the  "  clairvoyant 
blind  woman,"  as  Voltaire  called  the  marquise,  that 
they  preferred  the  conversation  of  the  younger  lady  to 
hers.  Mdlle.deLespinasse  had  no  beauty  of  face.  She 
was  remarkably  plain,  and  much  marked  with  the 
small-pox — a  common  disfigurem.ent  at  that  time — but 
she  had  very  fine  eyes  and  beautiful  hair.  She  was 
tall  and  of  an  elegant  figure,  and  dressed  with  excellent 
taste.  Her  voice  was  pleasing.  She  possessed  a  won- 
derfully winning  tongue,  and  as  La  Harpe  and  other 
admirers  said,  and  a  voluminous  collection  of  love- 
letters  attest,  "a  singularly  affectionate  soul,"  for 
eventually  she  died  of  love  and  grief  for  a  lover's 
death,  and  left  a  group  of  lovers,  distracted  with 
love,  to  lament  her  loss. 

She  had  been  ten  years  with  Madame  du  Deffant, 
when  it  appeared  that  Walpcle  was  becoming  en- 
chanted also.  The  old  marquise  could  not  tolerate 
that.  Disagreements,  not  to  say  quarrels,  ensued; 
when  d'Alembert,  being  as  madly  in  love  as  a  philoso- 
pher well  could  be,  carried  off  Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse,  and 
gave  her  a  salon  to  preside  in.  Through  the  interest  of 
the  philosophical  minister,  Choiseul,  he  obtained  for 
her  a  pension  from  the  king's  privy  purse — her  claim 
to  it,  probably,  being  her  "singularly  affectionate 
soul;"  for  in  her  quality  of  sub-editor  of  the  Ency- 
clopaedia, and  d'Alembert's  aide-de-camp,  she  could 
hardly  excite  much  interest  in  the  king. 


*' BEHOLD  VoVR  dUEEN!'*  489 

But  to  return  to  the  sofa  where  we  left  the  lady 
with  her  favorite  author,  pining  away,  sentimentally 
in  love  with  two  or  three  philosophers  and  as 
many  handsome  cavaliers;  each  one  convinced  that  it 
is  he  who  reigns  supreme  in  that  gentle  damsel's 
heart,  and  he  alone  who  inspires  those  eloquently  pas- 
sionate billets-doux  m  which  to  each  and  all  she  pours 
forth  the  tender  tale  of  her  heart's  woes.  Once  more 
Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse  sighs  forth  "  Poor  duchesse!"  for 
Madame  de  Pompadour  is  still  the  theme  of  the  scan- 
dal-mongers of  the  salon. 

"  Why  *  poor  duchesse  '  ? "  inquires  rather  brusquely 
a  friend  who  sits  near  her.  "  Why  should  you  pity 
her?  Very  recently  I  saw  her  dance,  or  I  should  say 
perform,  the  *  Menuet  de  la  Cour '  with  the  most 
grandly  impertinent  air  in  the  world.  Clairon's  ridic- 
ulous ''grandr  rfyf^rence^'  which  we  hear  so  much  of,  is  not 
to  be  compared,  for  pretentious  dignity,  with  Madame 
de  Pompadour's  courtesy.  It  was  a  courtesy,  certainly; 
but  invested  with  an  air  that  seemed  to  say  to  all 
present.  '  Behold  your  queen  ! '  " 

"Marmontel,"  began  Mdlle.de  Lespinasse,  apologeti- 
cally— 

"  Marmontel,"  interrupts  this  chatterer  of  the  salon^ 
"sings  her  praises,  I  know — she  appointed  him  His- 
torian of  France — now  dry  your  eyes,  mademoiselle: 
your  poor  duchesse  was  but  a  little  bourgeoise^  who  had 
caught  a  certain  air  of  the  court — what  is  Marmontel  but 
a  bourgeois  ?  He  is  the  friend,  too,  of  that  brother,  the 
disdainful  Marigny,  now  richer  than  the  king  ;  in  fact, 
as  rich  as  a  Jew,  and  going  to  marry  a  Mdlle.  Filleul, 
a  cousin  or  friend,  or  sister-in-law,  or  something  of 
that  kind,  of  Marmontel's — a  bourgeoise^  of  course.  He 
dared  not  condescend  to  such  a  marriage  as  that — con- 


496  TffR  OLD  rAgiME. 

descend,  you  know — while  his  sister,  the  poor  duchesse 
was  living.  I  hear  that  the  king  is  really  concerned  at 
her  death,  though  he  affected  gayety  and  nonchalance 
for  a  day  or  two.  Her  apartments  are  closely  shut  up, 
by  his  order,  and  he  proposes  never  to  reopen  them — 
but  time  will  show.  To  keep  up  his  spirits  he  has 
doubled  his  usual  daily  dose  of  champagne,  and  Riche- 
lieu spends  his  mornings  in  comforting  him." 

"  The  old  duke  will  comfort  him,  if  anybody  can. 
He  says  the  king  told  him — Richelieu  keeps  no  secrets, 
you  know — that  'although  he  had  sometimes  felt  that 
Madame  de  Pompadour's  opinions  had  more  weight 
in  the  councils  of  France  than  his  own,  yet  her  fond- 
ness for  power  of  that  kind  was  so  intense  that  to 
deprive  her  of  it  would  have  been  her  death.  She  had 
statesman-like  qualities,  he  said,  and  he  had  more  con- 
fidence in  her  than  in  his  ministers.'  But  this  and  much 
more  must  be  known  to  you,  mademoiselle.  You  philos- 
ophers know  everything.  Ah!  I  perceive  you  are  again 
in  tears.  You  suffer  from  nerves,  I  believe,  like  the 
rest  of  us.  It  is  a  horrid  thing  to  have  nerves,  is  it 
not?  Dear  me  !  what  will  d'Alembert  say  if  he  per- 
ceives that  I  have  unconsciously  made  you  weep?  or 
le  Comte — ' 

"  Ah  !  madame,  I  beg  of  you — " 

"  Well,  I  will  not  breathe  his  name.  You  are  far  too 
sensitive,  my  dear — M.  de  Buffon  is  here  this  evening, 
I  see — as  usual,  in  full  dress  ;  and,  as  usual,  in  his 
favorite  arm-chair  ;  reposing  on  his  cane,  with  his  eyes 
on  the  ceiling  ;  a  benignant  smile  on  his  face,  and  his 
thoughts  up  in  the  clouds,  in  pursuit  of  an  effective  turn 
for  an  unsettled  phrase  now  coursing  rebelliously 
through  his  brain.  That  horrid  Jean-Jacques,  you 
know,  when  he  visited  Montbard,  Buffon  being  absent, 


VABBA  MAURY* S  FIRST  SERMON.  49I 

fell  on  his  knees  and  kissed  the  door-step  of  his  study. 
He  imagined  him  '  Vhomme  de  la  nature '  in  the  same 
sense  as  himself,  when  they  are  far  as  the  poles  asun- 
der. Look  for  a  moment  on  le  Comte  de  Buffon,  the 
type  of  the  'aristocratic  author.'  Look  at  his  frill 
and  ruffles  of  fine  point-lace ;  his  embroidered  vest; 
silk  stockings,  gold  shoe-buckles,  cocked  hat,  and  gold- 
headed  cane.  Then  fancy  Jean-Jacques,  in  his  slat- 
ternly robe  and  caftan,  tramping  about  Paris,  with  all 
the  blackguards  of  the  capital  at  his  heels,  and  think- 
ing it  fame.     For  my  part,  I  love  him  not." 

"  There  are  Buffon  and  Diderot  side  by  side.  Ah! 
what  astrikin^  contrast! — would  notyousay  that  Buf- 
fon had  just  left  the  court,  and  Diderot  the  tavern  ?" 

"  Diderot  is  a  great  man,"  replies  Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse 
with  as  severe  an  air  as  she  can  assume. 

"  According  to  Voltaire — yes  ;  but  are  you  aware 
that  the  insults  he  calls  criticisms  have  just  killed  poor 
Carle  Vanloo,  and  that  with  less  judgment  than  spite 
he  decries  the  really  pleasing  pictures  of  Carle's 
nephew,  Michel  Vanloo  ?  Boucher  has  now  Vanloo's 
post  of  "  first  painter  to  the  king" — a  new  grief  for  Did- 
erot.* Good-night,  my  dear,  I  perceive  M.  le  Comte 
gazingat  me  imploringly.  I  mercifully  give  up  my  seat 
to  him.  Ah!  yet  another  moment.  Have  you  heard  of 
the  sermon  last  night  at  Madame  du  Deffant's  house  ?" 

"A  sermon!     No,  madame." 

"  As  you  know,  she  affects  to  keep  up  in  her  sa/on, 
as  far  as  this  degenerate  age  permits,  the  long-ago-for- 
gotten traditions  of  the  once-famed  Hotel  de  Ram- 
bouillet.     You  remember,  no  doubt,   the  incident  of 

*  Boucher  died  in  1770,  suddenly — brush  in  hand,  and  alone  in 
his  satin-draped  boudoir-atdier — before  a  picture  he  was  painting 
of  "Venus  ^  sa  Toilette." 


49^  ^tt&   OLD  REGIME. 

young  Bossuet  preaching  there  his  first  sermon,  ex^ 
temporized  at  ten  minutes'  notice,  to  an  assembly  of 
great  ladies  and  their  cavaliers.  Well,  the  poor  old 
blind  marquise  revived  this  scene  last  night  in  her 
salon^  for  the  edification  of  the  fine  ladies  and  their 
a7nis  intimes  there  assembled;  the  hero  of  it  being  a 
young  abbe  of  nineteen,  recently  arrived  in  Paris,  and 
caught  for  the  occasion  by  Pont  de  Veyle.  Wonder- 
ful lungs,  and  already  a  good  philosopher,  I  hear;  his 
name,  I  believe,  Maury.  Again,  good-night — d'Alem- 
bert  will  tell  you  more  about  it — M.  de  Guibert,  I  see, 
grows  impatient." 

All  the  court  news  gleaned  at  Versailles,  all  the 
chit-chat  and  gossip  of  the  capital,  served  for  conver- 
sation, comment,  and  amplification  in  the  Parisian 
salons  in  the  evening.  In  the  salon  of  Madame  Dou- 
blet de  Persan,  who  for  forty  years  inhabited  an  "  out- 
side apartment"  of  the  convent  of  Les  Filles  de  St. 
Thomas,  two  registers  were  always  lying  open,  for 
contributions  of  news  that  her  visitors  might  have 
gathered  in  Paris,  or  elsewhere,  in  the  course  of  the 
day.  One  register  was  labelled  "doubtful  reports;" 
the  other,  "  trustworthy  information."  Under  the  di- 
rection of  Petit  de  Bachaumont,  the  scraps  of  news 
were  arranged  under  different  heads,  and  copied  in  a 
legible  hand.  These  manuscript  sheets  of  "  Nouvelles 
^  la  Main"  were  then  despatched  per  post  to  the  pro- 
vinces, and,  distributed  by  Madame's  servants,  had  an 
extensive  sale  in  Paris.  It  was  from  materials  thus 
obtained  that  Bachaumont  wrote  his  "  Memoires  Se- 
crets." His  friend,  Madame  Doublet,  lived  to  nearly 
a  century,  and  died  at  last  in  the  convent.  Her  news- 
letters circulated  in  France  for  near  forty  years,  and 
her  salon  was  frequented  by  many  persons  of  celebrity 


DEATH  OF   THE  DAUPHIN. 


493 


and  of  extreme  opinions.  But  it  was  not  a  fashiona- 
ble salon^  or  reunion  of  the  beau  monde.  The  Lieuten- 
ant of  Police  usually  kept  a  watchful  eye  on  it;  for 
though  no  gambler,  schemer,  or  philosopher  herself, 
her  doors  were  hospitably  open  to  all  of  them. 

But  at  this  time  news  was  scarce,  and,  except  for  the 
question,  '*  Who  shall  succeed  her?"  the  court  was  dull; 
the  king  was  gloomy,  and  little  was  seen  or  known  of 
him.  The  dauphin,  whose  health  was  never  robust, 
had  taken  so  deeply  to  heart  the  dissolution  in  France 
of  the  Society  of  Jesus  that  it  was  reported  he  was 
falling  into  a  decline.  He  had  experienced  another 
vexation  in  the  greater  alienation  that  now  existed 
between  him  and  his  father,  besides  continued  deep 
grief  for  the  loss  of  his  eldest  son.  A  camp  was  then 
forming  at  Compiegne,  and  the  king  at  last  consented 
to  allow  him  to  gratify  his  military  tastes,  and  to  seek 
distraction  in  superintending  the  new  manoeuvres 
about  to  be  introduced  into  the  French  army.  Eman- 
cipated from  the  restraint  he  had  so  long  endured, 
and  which  at  his  age  (thirty-six)  must  have  been 
extremely  trying,  he  entered  on  his  new  duties  and 
occupations  with  so  much  zeal  that  his  weak  consti- 
tution gave  way  under  the  unusual  fatigues  imposed 
on  it.  He  returned  to  Versailles  at  the  end  of  the 
autumn,  worn  and  weary,  and  after  languishing  for  a 
few  weeks,  died  on  the  20th  of  December,  1765. 

From  one  end  of  France  to  the  other,  the  pulpits 
resounded  with  the  praises  of  the  dauphin.  He 
had  rather  prematurely  announced  his  intention  of 
pursuing  with  extremest  rigor  the  enemies  of  religion; 
and  of  the  throne — when  he  should  sit  on  it.  He  was, 
therefore,  the  hope  of  the  Jesuits.  And  the  clergy 
generally  were  anxious  at  his  death  to  raise  him  to 


494  ^-^^   OLD  REGIME. 

the  honor  of  saintship.  In  exalting  so  greatly  the  vir- 
tues of  the  son,  they  condemned  the  vices  of  the  king. 
Louis  XV.  felt  this;  but  its  only  effect  was  to  increase 
his  dislike  to  that  son,  whose  death,  as  he  told  Choi- 
seul,  affected  him  but  little,  though,  for  form's  sake, 
he  thought  it  right  to  remain  for  awhile  in  seclusion. 

The  saint  of  the  Jesuits  seemed  likely  to  become  the 
saint  of  their  enemies,  the  philosophers.  M.  Thomas, 
the  academician,  in  his  eulogy  on  the  dauphin,  spoke 
of  him  in  terms  so  exaggerated  that  the  philosophic 
brotherhood  accused  him  of  having  "  rather  unmasked 
the  batteries."  "  If  the  prince,"  said  Diderot,  "  really 
merited  a  hundredth  part  of  the  praise  M.  Thomas  has 
lavished  upon  him,  who  in  this  world  ever  resembled, 
or  could  hope  to  resemble,  him  ?  But  can  any  one 
approve  such  a  mass  of  hyperbole,  of  which  the  false- 
hood is  so  strikingly  evident?  What  sort  of  opinion 
must  the  father,  who  well  knew  his  son's  faults,  form 
of  men  of  letters,  when  one  of  the  honestest  among 
them  can  without  shame  make  up  his  mind  to  stand 
forth  and  lie  to  a  whole  nation  ?  His  sisters,  too  ? 
And  his  wife  ?  As  for  his  valets,  they  will  but  laugh 
at  it." 

Grimm,  as  characteristically,  but  with  less  vehe- 
mence, remarked,  "  If,  in  good  faith,  M.  Thomas  be- 
lieves that  the  dauphin  possessed  a  fourth  of  the 
qualities  he  has  ascribed  to  him,  it  is  very  certain  that 
he  is  no  descendant  of  Thomas  the  apostle."  By  de- 
grees the  prince — whose  character  the  king  described 
as  more  Polish  than  French — was  idealized  by  the 
philosophers,  until  they  had  made  him  one  of  them- 
selves. The  books  he  openly  denounced  were  de- 
clared to  have  been,  in  secret,  his  constant  companions 
and  his  most  diligent  study.  Locke  "  On  the  Human 
Understanding,"  of  which,  in  translation,  he  and  the 


DEATH  OF  KING  STANISLAUS. 


495 


Jesuits  had  been  strenuously  active  in  preventing  the 
circulation  in  France,  was  never  out  of  his  hands,  they 
said,  in  the  privacy  of  his  study,  and  was  dearer  to 
him  than  his  prayer-book — generally  supposed  to 
have  been  dearest  of  all.  Even  Piron  took  up  his  pen 
to  laud  the  dauphin.  But  it  was  not  the  pen  of  the 
Piron  of  former  days.  Following  the  fashion  of  the 
beauties  of  his  time,  Piron  had  forsaken  the  sins  of  his 
youth,  and  in  his  latter  years  was  grown  devout.  In- 
stead of  seeking  for  Piron,  as  of  old,  in  the  taverns, 
those  who  now  wanted  him  sought  the  old  sinner  in 
the  churches.  His  tribute  of  laudation  to  the  dauphin 
took  the  form  of  sacred  poetry,  in  which,  naturally, 
no  low  jest  was  allowed  to  intrude.  He  imagined  the 
prince  in  heaven,  and  put  into  his  mouth  a  magnifi- 
cently pious  and  lugubrious  tirade.  But  what  was 
Piron  without  his  scurrility  and  his  licentious  wit? 
"  If  the  dauphin  in  paradise  was  occupied  in  making 
and  reciting  such  poetry  as  that,"  it  was  remarked, 
"he  would  surely  take  precedence  of  M.  de  Voltaire." 
On  the  23d  of  February,  1766,  two  months  after 
the  death  of  her  son,  poor  Marie  Leczinska  lost  her 
father,  King  Stanislaus.  He  was  eighty-eight  years 
of  age;  but  the  circumstances  of  his  death  made  it 
more  affecting.  Alone  in  his  dressing-room,  and 
seated  near  the  hearth  on  which  some  large  logs  of 
wood  were  burning,  his  robe-de-chambre  took  fire.  He 
was  infirm,  unable  to  aid  himself,  and  his  cries  for 
assistance  were  not  immediately  heard.  When  his 
servant  returned  to  him,  he  found  the  old  king,  who 
had  made  great  efforts  to  extinguish  the  flames,  lying 
on  the  floor,  his  hands  and  legs  very  much  burnt. 
The  pain  of  his  wounds  produced  fever,  and  he  died 
after  lingering  a  few  days  in  agony.  Stanislaus  was 
greatly  beloved   in   Lorraine.     It  had  become  a  cus- 


496  THE    OLD  REGIME. 

torn  with  many  of  the  nobility  of  the  French  court, 
and  other  wealthy  persons,  to  make  frequent  visits  to 
his  little  capital,  which  he  had  taken  so  much  pride  in 
embellishing.  His  loss  was  therefore  felt  at  Ver- 
sailles far  beyond  the  intimate  circle  of  the  queen. 

The  funeral  discourse  delivered  on  that  occasion  by 
the  Pere  Elisee  momentarily  turned  a  distressing 
catastrophe  into  a  subject  for  mirth.  Thinking,  pro- 
bably, to  produce  an  effect  similar  to  that  caused  by 
Bossuet,  when  he  began  the  celebrated  oration  on  the 
death  of  Madame  Henriette  d'Angleterre — "  O  dis- 
astrous, O  dreadful  night !  when,  like  the  crash  of 
thunder,  that  awful  cry  resounded,  Madame  has 
destroyed  herself!  Madame  is  dead  !"  the  Pere  Elisee 
began.  "  O  day  !  O  frightful  moment!  when  we  heard 
resound  about  us  long  sobs  interrupted  by  these  sad 
words:  The  king's  clothes  are  on  fire  !  his  life  is  in 
danger !  the  king  is  dangerously  ill !" — a  ridiculous 
parody,  that  provoked  subdued  laughter.  As  ob- 
served by  Boulogne,  to  make  it  still  more  perfect  he 
should  have  said,  "  The  king  is  burning;  the  king  is 
burnt." 

Death  was  very  busy  at  that  time  in  the  family  of 
Louis  XV.  In  March,  1767,  the  dauphine  died,  to  the 
extreme  grief  of  the  queen,  who  lost  in  her  almost  her 
only  companion  and  friend.  Her  daughters  were 
restless,  and  dissatisfied  with  their  position — ill 
brought  up  in  the  Convent  of  Fontevrault,  and  their 
education  neglected.  In  the  following  year  the  queen 
also  died.  Her  malady,  apparently,  was  a  deep  and 
settled  grief,  a  gradual  pining  away.  On  the  24th  of 
June,  1768,  it  terminated  in  death,  for  which,  m.otion- 
less,  speechless,  she  had  lain  for  weeks  anxiously,  as 
it  seemed,  longing  and  waiting. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Birth  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte. — "  Forming"  a  Queen  of  France. 
— The  Empress  Marie  Th6r6se. — Madame  d'Esparb6s  Un- 
masked.— Rival  Intrigantes. — Noble  Hopes  O'erthrown. — 
Retribution  Exacted. — Installing  the  Favorite. — A  Favorite's 
Privileges. — Enter  La  Comtesse  du  Barry. — The  Hair-dresser 
in  a  Difficulty. — "  La  Belle  Bourbonnaise." 

It  had  been  generally  expected  that,  at  the  death 
of  Madame  de  Pompadour,  the  favor  which  M.  de 
Choiseul  had  for  six  years  enjoyed  with  the  king 
would  come  to  an  end;  and,  in  the  natural  course  of 
things,  the  reign  of  a  new  favorite  usher  in  a  new  min- 
istry. Four  years  had  now  passed  away.  The  apart- 
ments of  Madame  de  Pompadour  yet  remained  closed, 
and  the  Ministere  Choiseul,  more  compact  than  any 
perhaps  that  had  hitherto  held  power  in  France,  was 
still  supreme. 

M.  de  Choiseul's  unfailing  flow  of  spirits;  his  won- 
derful self-confidence;  the  tact  with  which  he  man- 
aged the  king — relieving  him  of  ail  anxiety,  and  setting 
things  before  him  in  a  pleasant  and  satisfactory  light 
— had  obtained  him  so  much  influence  that,  although 
surrounded  by  enemies  watching  eagerly  for  his 
downfall,  M.  de  Choiseul  was  master  of  France,  or  as 
it  was  customary  to  say,  "  He  possessed  the  king." 
As  a  minister  he  has  been  considered  more  brilliant 
than  able;  endowed  with  many  agreeable  qualities 
which  as  a  man  of  the  world  made  him  popular  in  SQ- 


498  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

ciety,  but  deficient  in  the  more  solid  ones  that  should 
characterize  a  statesman.  One  of  the  later  acts  of 
his  ministry  was  the  successful  arrangement  of  the 
union  of  Corsica  to  France,  after  much  opposition  in 
the  island  and  the  hopeless  struggle  of  the  brave 
Paoli  for  freedom.  On  the  15th  of  August,  1768,  this 
union  was  proclaimed,  and  on  its  first  anniversary 
was  born  the  man  who,  it  may  be  said,  was  destined 
to  unite  France  to  Corsica — Napoleon  Buonaparte. 

After  the  death  of  the  queen,  Choiseul  was  anxious 
that  Louis  XV.  should  marry  an  Austrian  arch- 
duchess. Mesdames  the  king's  daughters  were  de- 
sirous of  fixing  his  attention  on  the  young  Duchesse 
de  Lamballe,  the  widowed  daughter-in-law  of  the  Due 
de  Penthievre.  This  would  have  been  a  morganatic 
marriage;  but  the  king  did  not  incline  to  either  pro- 
posal. He  declared  also  that  he  was  not  disposed  to 
follow  the  example  of  his  predecessor.  To  ensure  his 
continuance  in  power  in  the  event  of  a  change  of 
rulers,  the  duke  obtained  the  king's  consent  to  nego- 
tiate with  M.  de  Kaunitz  the  marriage  of  the  dauphin, 
the  Due  de  Berri,  with  the  Archduchess  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, the  youngest  daughter  of  the  empress-queen. 
Both  Kaunitz  and  Choiseul  claimed  for  themselves 
the  highest  political  merit  for  thus  powerfully  cement- 
ing, as  they  imagined,  the  union  between  the  two 
crowns  and  countries. 

The  dauphin  was  then  little  more  than  thirteen 
years  of  age,  and  Marie  Antoinette  twelve.  The  young 
archduchess  was  born  on  an  ill-omened  day,  the  2d  of 
November,  1755;  that  fatal  All-Souls'  Day  when  Lis- 
bon, with  30,000  of  the  people,  was  destroyed  by  the 
great  earthquake — an  event  which  struck  terror  into 
the  hearts  of  the  inhabitants  of  every  city  in  Europe. 


MADAME  D'ESPARB£S   UI^M ASKED. 


499 


When  the  marriage  was  arranged,  the  actors  Aufrcsne 
and  Sainton  and  the  Abbe  de  Vermond  were  engaged 
to  form  the  giddy  young  girl,  whose  education  had 
been  entirely  neglected,  to  play  her  part,  as  future 
queen,  at  the  court  of  France.  Marie  Th^rese  sacri- 
ficed the  happiness  of  all  her  daughters  to  her  ambi- 
tious political  views,  and  very  cruelly  the  lives  of  two 
of  them  to  her  miserable,  narrow-minded  bigotry  and 
perverted  piety.  The  devout  empress — magnified  into 
a  heroine  on  the  strength  of  the  well-known  idealized 
scene  that  drew  from  Hungarian  gallantry  the  cry  of 
"  Moriamur  pro  rege  nostro,  Maria  Theresa" — when 
it  served  her  purposes,  could  be  more  than  complai- 
sant to  the  mistresses  of  Louis  XV.,  and  instructed  her 
young  daughter  to  adopt  the  same  course;  looking 
forward  too  confidently  to  the  continued  support  of 
Choiseul. 

The  Baron  de  Bezenval  says  of  his  intimate  friend 
the  Due  de  Choiseul  that  he  was  "  prone  to  the  weak- 
ness— the  worst  that  a  man  officially  employed  can 
have — of  yielding  too  readily  to  female  influence." 
He  could  be  swayed  by  the  whims  of  his  charming  lit- 
tle philosophical  duchess,  as  well  as  by  those  of  other 
clever  women.  His  sister,  the  Duchesse  de  Gram- 
mont,  had  considerable  power  over  him;  and  it  was 
through  her  that  the  Ministere  Choiseul,  which  had  so 
long  triumphantly  defied  all  attacks  upon  it,  was 
finally  overthrown.  The  duchess  had  set  her  heart  on 
succeeding  to  the  vacant  throne  of  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour. The  duke  had  warded  off  all  other  aspirants, 
and  had  effectually  destroyed  the  hopes  of  Madame 
d'Esparbes,  who  thought  to  win  the  favor  of  the  king 
by  displaying  for  his  admiration  her  very  beautiful 
hands  when  plucking  the  stalks  from  some  cherries. 


500  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

The  tribute  of  admiration  was  duly  paid  to  the 
pretty  fingers,  and  to  the  grace  with  which  they  per- 
formed their  work.  Thus  encouraged,  she  continued 
persistently  to  pay  her  devoirs  to  her  gracious  sover- 
eign, who,  as  Madame  de  Genlis  informs  us — in  her 
account  of  her  presentation  at  about  this  time — was 
still  remarkably  handsome,  and  of  noble  presence; 
though  other  reports  are  less  enthusiastic.  But  it  did 
not  suit  Choiseul  to  admit  Madame  d'Esparbes  to 
share  the  government  with  him;  so  notwithstanding 
his  gallantry,  he  put  an  end  to  her  schemes,  by  un- 
masking her,  as  it  were,  before  the  beau  mondedX  Marly; 
where  the  king  more  frequently  sojourned  than  before 
the  death  of  Madame  de  Pompadour.  As  the  duke 
and  several  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  court  were 
descending  the  grand  staircase,  he  tapped  Madame 
d'Esparbes  familiarly  under  the  chin,  and  said  aloud, 
and  in  a  manner  understood  by  all,  "  Well,  little  one, 
how  do  you  succeed  ?"  This  persiflage^  which  amused 
all  but  the  lady  herself,  he  repeated  to  the  king;  who 
was  so  shocked  at  her  audacious  design  of  making  a 
conquest  of  him  that  a  lettre-de-cachet  was  immediately 
issued;  and  Madame  d'Esparbes — informed  that  she 
was  released  from  the  duty  of  paying  court  to  his 
majesty — was  ordered  to  retire  to  Montauban,  the 
estate  of  her  father,  the  Marquis  de  Lussac. 

Madame  de  Grammont  attacked  the  king  more  insi- 
diously. Louis  XV.,  to  a  certain  extent,  had  respected 
the  grief  of  the  queen  under  the  family  bereavements 
she  had  sustained — if  but  little  affected  by  them  him- 
self. In  her  long  illness  he  seemed  concerned  and 
anxious,  and  visited  her  often;  so  far  evincing  more 
decency  of  feeling,  and  more  regard  for  her,  than  those 
great  ladies  of  her  court  who  were  intriguing  against 


NOBLE  HOPES  O'ERTHROlVN,  50! 

each  other  to  obtain  the  post  of  mattresse-en-titre,  which 
— not  desiring,  one  may  venture  to  hope,  further  to 
distress  the  queen — he  was  in  no  haste  to  fill  up  while 
she  lived.  They  had  now  no  fear  of  a  little  bourgeoise 
being  again  so  highly  exalted.  Choiseul  would  oppose 
that,  they  felt  sure;  while,  further  to  avert  so  great  a 
calamity,  the  highest  ladies  in  the  land  were  patrioti- 
cally willing  to  sacrifice  themselves  to  save  the  honor 
of  France  and  her  king. 

The  attentions  of  the  duchess  were  received  by 
Louis  with  very  marked  coldness,  which,  however, 
chilled  not  her  ardent  ambition  to  become  his  "guide, 
philosopher,  and  friend."  "By  means  of  obstinacy 
and  audacity,"  and  "  a  certain  fascinating  power  of 
domination"  which  she  gave  herself  credit  for  possess- 
ing, she  yet  hoped  that  her  praiseworthy  efforts  would 
prevail.  What,  then,  was  the  consternation  of  this 
noble  lady,  and  that  of  all  the  Roman  matrons  of  the 
court,  when  the  duke  announced  to  the  free-thinkers 
of  Madame  de  Grammont's  atheistical  salon  the  re- 
opening of  Madame  de  Pompadour's  apartments!  Five 
years  had  nearly  elapsed  since  a  key  had  been  turned 
in  the  locks  or  the  shutters  been  opened.  The  rich 
gilding  was  found  tarnished,  and  damp  and  moth  had 
been  destructively  busy  with  the  heavy  velvet  drape- 
ries, etc.  Costly  new  furniture  is  ordered,  and  the 
apartments  are  to  be  splendidly  decorated  without 
delay. 

But  this  is  not  for  Madame  de  Grammont.  Most 
persons  present  are  aware  of  that,  and  their  furtive 
glances  seem  to  inquire  how  she  bears  it;  for  they  are 
also  aware  of  her  pretensions.  But  a  few  days  since 
the  king  had  told  her — perhaps  with  charitable  inten- 
tion of   giving  her  credit  for  scruples  she  had  not, 


50^  TUP.   OLD  REGIME. 

though  she  interpreted  it  differently — that  "  he  would 
have  no  Dame  de  Maintenon  in  his  court." 

What  he  needed,  he  said,  was  "  a  salon  where  he  could 
sup  and  bring  together  a  little  company  of  intimates 
under  the  sceptre  of  a  gracious  woman;  and  since 
Madame  de  Pompadour  he  had  not  found  one."  This 
phoenix,  it  appears,  is  found.  The  duchess  discerns 
plainly  the  hand  of  Richelieu  in  this  secret  intrigue. 
Jealousy  and  intense  hate  possess  her  mind,  and  she 
demands  of  her  brother  more  than  his  accustomed 
persiflage^  or  mere  hostility  to  this  mistress  expectant. 
The  death-blow  to  her  hopes  must  be  avenged.  Her 
outraged  feelings  exact  severe  retribution. 

Forthwith,  an  infamous  parentage;  a  life  of  deepest 
depravity;  low  habits,  and  even  worse  than  coarse 
language,  are  ascribed  to  this  new  mistress  of  Louis 
XV.;  maitresse-en-titre  she  is  not  yet.  Her  presenta- 
tion, according  to  the  etiquette  established  and  ob- 
served by  the  Grand  Monarque  himself,  has  not  yet 
taken  place;  and  if  Madame  de  Grammont,  aided  by 
a  band  of  pamphleteers  and  song-writers,  can  brand 
her  with  infamy,  it  will  not.  Songs  and  lampoons  and 
scandalous  stories  are  sung  and  said  and  fiddled  in 
every  corner  of  Paris.  Crowds  gather  round  to  hear 
them;  to  mock  and  laugh,  and  to  hiss  the  name  of 
their  Well-beloved.  What  is  called  the  "  story  of  her 
life"  is  circulated,  sold,  or  given  away,  just  as  it  hap- 
pens, in  all  the  most  frequented  streets  and  places  of 
public  resort.  It  was  on  such  a  foundation  as  this — 
the  baseness  of  a  high-born  dame,  disappointed  in  her 
hopes  of  being  the  mistress  of  a  worn-out  libertine 
king — that  the  ill-fame  of  Madame  du  Barry  long 
rested. 

It  was  surely  dishonor  enough  that  a  young  and 


ji  fAvotures  pK/vnEcss. 


$03 


beautiful  woman,  though  not  of  the  privileged  class, 
should  fill  so  disgraceful  a  position.  But  the  great 
ladies  saw  in  it  only  usurpation  of  an  exalted  post 
created  for  the  daughters  of  illustrious  houses. 

The  day  appointed  for  the  installation  of  the  favorite 
arrived,  (The  commands  of  "Louis  le  Grand  "  were 
very  precise  concerning  this  ceremony.)  She  is  to  be 
presented  to  Mesdames,  the  queen  being  dead,  and  her 
position  at  court  recognized  by  them.  Henceforth 
she  is  entitled  to  recommend  to  ministers  the  persons 
she  favors  as  applicants  for  office.  And  her  recom- 
mendation is  to  be  received  as  a  royal  command.  She 
is  entitled  to  expect  visits  of  etiquette  from  the  gran- 
dees of  the  court  and  foreign  ambassadors;  to  accom- 
pany the  king  on  his  numerous  journeys  from  palace 
to  palace;  to  visit  all  branches  of  the  royal  family;  in 
short,  to  have  all  the  privileges  and  honors  of  a  queen. 
Without  the  presentation  she  could  claim  no  such  dis- 
tinction; with  it  she  is  the  first  lady  in  the  land.  She 
has  France  at  her  feet;  and  if  like  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour, she  has  tact,  sne  cannot  be  expelled  from  the 
dignified  post  to  which  his  majesty  has  raised  hen 

The  hour  appointed  for  the  presentation  of  Madame 
du  Barry  by  the  Duchesse  de  Mirepoix  had  passed,  and 
there  were  no  signs  yet  of  her  arrival.  The  king  has 
been  accustomed  to  punctuality,  and  shows  some  signs 
of  impatience.  If  Mesdames  dared  say  what  they 
thought,  it  would  be  nothing  favorable  to  this  "  imper- 
tinent grisette  who  has  bewitched  the  king" — as  those 
who  know  her  only  from  Madame  de  Grammont's 
songs  and  sonnets  are  accustomed  to  call  her.  Lords 
and  ladies  exchange  very  meaning  glances.  They 
expect  this  creature  to  come  rushing  in  and,  in  her  low 
patois  and  her  ignorance  of  les  convenances^  horrify  the 


504  'J^HE    OLD  REGIME. 

august  circle  with  an  account  of  some  vulgar  cause  of 
delay.  The  old  Due  de  Richelieu,  the  Count  d'Aiguil- 
lon,  and  others  of  their  party,  begin  to  look  serious 
and  to  wonder  what  will  be  the  result  of  this  contre- 
temps. It  is  of  course  by  an  intrigue  of  those  who 
desire  Choiseul's  office  that  the  young  girl  whose 
appearance  is  now  by  all  present  so  anxiously  awaited 
has  been  introduced  to  the  king — their  intention  being 
to  employ  her  influence  to  further  their  own  views. 

The  king,  in  no  excellent  humor,  is  about  to  post- 
pone the  ceremony,  when  Richelieu,  who  had  with- 
drawn to  ascertain  why  and  wherefore  this  noble 
company  should  be  kept  so  long  in  suspense,  returns, 
and  informs  his  majesty  that  Madame  du  Barry  is 
there,  but,  having  unfortunately  arrived  so  late,  she 
would  not  enter  without  permission.  His  majesty 
permits.  The  doors  fly  open.  Enter  the  grand  usher. 
Numerous  attendants.  Then  the  Duchesse  de  Mirepoix, 
and  by  her  side,  her  train  borne  by  a  royal  page,  a  vision 
of  youth,  beauty,  grace,  and  modesty — the  Comtesse 
du  Barry.  She  is  tall,  her  figure  elegant  and  sylph- 
like, her  complexion  brilliantly  fair,  with  a  pale  rose- 
bloom  on  her  cheek.  And  it  is  not  rouge,  which,  with 
excellent  taste,  she  never  made  use  of.  Her  eyes  are 
of  a  deep  violet  blue,  and  she  has  wavy  light-brown 
hair.* 

She  was  twenty-three,  but  appeared  much  younger. 
Her  modesty  and  graceful  manners  particularly  struck 
the  courtiers,  also  the  elegant  simplicity  of  her  dress; 
and  it  was  said  by  one  present  that,  instead  of  the 

*  Some  accounts  speak  of  her  "  fine  dark  eyes  and  rich  southern 
complexion.  But  Madame  Vig6e  Le  Brun,  who  painted  her  por- 
trait, should  be  good  authority;  and  she  describes  Madame  du 
Barry  as  above. 


**LA   BELLE  BOVRBONNAlSE.''  joj 

king's  mistress,  and  such  a  mistress  as  they  had  looked 
for,  she  might  have  been  taken  for  "  a  little  school-girl 
who  had  just  come  from  her  first  communion."  The 
delay  in  her  arrival  was  owing  to  the  difficulty  the 
hair-dresser  experienced  in  getting  her  rebelliously 
curly  hair  dressed  up  to  the  proper  height,  and  her 
torture  under  the  operation.  The  Duchesse  de  Gram- 
mont,  ivho  had  passed  her  fortieth  year,  was  infinitely 
annoyed  by  the  denial — in  appearance,  at  least — so 
forcibly  given  to  her  infamous  reports.  Her  rage  was 
not  easily  appeased,  and  the  next  morning  the  ears  of 
the  young  countess  were  assailed  by  the  disgraceful 
song  "  La  Belle  Bourbonnaise,"  sung  under  her  win- 
dows. 

Madame  du  Barry  was  de  son  sihigy  no  doubt,  as  was 
Madame  de  Grammont  herself.  But  there  is  no  proof 
beyond  the  infamous  songs  and  stories  circulated  by 
the  duchess  and  the  people  she  employed  that  Madame 
du  Barry  was  the  degraded  creature  she  has  been  de- 
scribed on  this  more  than  doubtful  authority.  She 
was  extravagant,  thoughtless,  and  believed  that  the 
riches  of  the  king  were  boundless.  But  her  kindness 
of  heart ;  her  thoughtful  care  of  the  poor  and  sick  on 
her  estate  of  Luviciennes,  where  she  was  greatly  be- 
loved ;  and  her  desire  to  aid  Louis  XVI.  and  his  queen 
in  their  affliction,  plead  strongly  in  her  favor.  The 
devotion,  too,  of  such  a  man  as  the  Due  de  Cosse- 
Brissac  could  hardly  have  continued  for  ten  years, 
undiminished,  to  a  w^oman  vulgar  and  depraved  ;  and 
lastly,  her  death,  by  the  guillotine  of  the  monsters  of 
the  Terror,  should  excuse  and  expiate  many  a  fault. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

The  Dauphin  and  his  Brothers. — Arrival  of  the  Bride.  — A  Timid 
Young  Bridegroom. — Les  F^tes  Magiques. — Fete  of  the  City 
of  Paris. — A  Terrible  Catastrophe. — Lamentation,  Mourning, 
and  Woe. — Marie  Antoinette. 


It  is  the  14th  of  April,  1770.  The  Chateau  de  Com- 
piegne  is  filled  with  guests — a  brilliant  assemblage  of 
the  great  nobles  composing  the  court  of  Louis  XV. 
The  king,  with  his  three  young  grandsons — the  dau- 
phin, the  Comte  de  Provence  (afterwards  Louis  XVIII. ), 
and  the  Comte  d'Artois  (Charles  X.),  arrived  at  the 
chateau  on  the  evening  of  the  13th,  to  receive  the  Aus- 
trian Archduchess  Marie  Antoinette  Jeanne  Josephe 
de  Lorraine,  the  betrothed  of  the  dauphin.  The  bride- 
groom elect,  a  stout,  heavy-looking,  melancholy  boy, 
wears  an  air  of  resigned  indifference  to  his  fate  that 
reminds  one  of  his  grandfather,  when,  at  the  same 
age,  fifteen  and  a  half,  his  cousin  de  Bourbon  with 
his  mistress,  Madame  de  Prie,  married  him  to  Marie 
Leczinska. 

Of  the  younger  brothers.  Monsieur  (the  Comte  de 
Provence)  is  as  thick  and  ungainly  in  figure  as  the 
dauphin.  But  there  is  more  expression  in  his  counte- 
nance— perhaps  he  is  more  intellectual,  and  possibly 
a  little  more  crafty.  The  Comte  d'Artois  is  rather 
slimly  formed,  and  report  credits  him  with  having  in- 
herited in  a  greater  degree  than  either  of  his  brothers 


ARRIVAL  OF  THM  BRID£.  ^o? 

the  impetuous,  chivalrous,  restless,  yet  tyrannical 
temperament  of  the  Poles,  of  which  his  father  ex- 
hibited so  large  a  dash  in  his  character.  But  they 
are  still  mere  children,  and  their  dispositions  and 
mental  faculties  but  partially  developed.  The  mar- 
riages of  both  these  poor  boys  are,  however,  arranged 
to  two  little  sister  Princesses  of  Savoy. 

A  crowd  surrounds  the  chateau,  and  anxious  groups 
are  assembled  at  every  town  and  village  along  the  line 
of  road  the  young  Princess  is  to  pass.  In  so  terribly 
break-neck  a  state  were  these  roads  that,  in  case  of  a 
mishap  to  the  cortege  of  the  royal  bride,  they  have  been 
thoroughly  repaired  for  the  especial  occasion  of  her 
journey.  The  couriers  arrive.  There  is  a  grand  flour- 
ish of  trumpets  ;  the  king  and  the  dauphin  mount 
their  horses,  and,  with  a  numerous  retinue,  ride  forth 
to  meet  and  welcome  the  future  queen  of  France. 
Notwithstanding  his  sixty  years,  Louis  XV.  makes  a 
far  more  gallant  knight  than  the  dauphin,  who  would 
much  prefer  to  be  employed  with  his  last  new  play- 
thing— a  blacksmith's  anvil — than  in  playing  the  lover 
to  any  young  lady. 

The  old  state  travelling  carriage  is  in  sight.  Put- 
ting spurs  to  his  horse,  the  king  leads  the  way,  and, 
with  his  plumed  hat  in  his  hand,  rides  up  to  the 
side  of  the  cumbrous  vehicle.  A  lively-looking  girl 
of  fourteen  and  a  half  years,  fresh  and  fair,  but  with 
no  beauty  of  feature  or  even  of  figure  at  that  time, 
returns  the  king's  greeting.  Her  manner  betrays  that 
she  has  been  drilled  into  the  necessity  of  being  very 
dignified.  But  something  of  the  hoyden  is  evident  in 
the  inclination,  with  difficulty  restrained — though  the 
solemn  eyes  of  I'Abbe  de  Vermond  are  upon  her — to 
burst  into  laughter  at  the  part  she  is  playing  in  this 


5oS  THE  OLb  rAcimm. 

formal  scene.  Like  the  "  consecration  of  the  Sultana," 
to  quote  the  expression  of  a  French  writer,  it  is  con- 
ducted according  to  the  rules  of  etiquette,  prescribed 
and  observed  a  hundred  and  ten  years  before  by  the 
great  Louis  XIV.  at  the  reception  of  his  fiancee,  Maria 
Theresa  of  Spain. 

The  bridegroom  on  the  present  occasion  is,  how- 
ever, far  more  like  the  boy  king  Louis  XIII.,  when, 
being  desperately  out  of  temper  and  naturally  frigid, 
he  was  obliged  to  show  himself  to  the  good  bourgeois 
of  Paris  by  the  side  of  his  sparkling,  coquettish  young 
bride,  Anne  of  Austria.  The  lively  imagination  of 
the  present  little  archduchess  had  pictured  to  itself  a 
far  more  dashing  young  husband  than  the  gloomy, 
timid,  fat  dauphin.  He  speaks  not  a  word  to  her. 
She  glances  curiously  at  him  now  and  then,  and  gen- 
erally meets  the  eyes  of  the  youthful  Comte  d'Artois. 
Both  of  them  smile;  for  there  is  more  sympathy  be- 
tween this  boy  and  her  than  the  others.  It  was 
remarked  at  the  time  that  it  was  a  pity  they  had  not 
been  destined  for  each  other;  but  it  was  a  still  greater 
pity,  as  subsequent  events  too  well  proved,  that  the 
marriages  of  such  children  should  have  taken  place 
at  all. 

The  civil  part  of  the  ceremony  of  the  fatal  marriage 
of  Marie  Antoinette  and  the  dauphin  was  performed 
on  the  15th,  and  on  the  following  day  the  nuptial 
benediction  was  given  at  Versailles  by  the  Archbishop 
of  Paris.  A  series  of  fetes  followed.  And  notwith- 
standing that  the  exchequer  was  in  its  customary 
chronic  state  of  exhaustion,  twenty  millions  of  francs 
— an  almost  fabulous  sum  for  that  period — were  ex- 
pended upon  them.  ^^  Fetes  magtques"  they  were 
termed,  from  their  surpassing  in  splendor  anything 


FETE   OF   THE   CITY  OF  PARIS. 


509 


then  remembered,  or,  owing  to  the  greater  facilities 
available,  than  had  probably  ever  been  seen  in  France. 
Visitors,  noble  and  royal,  flocked  from  every  part  of 
Europe  to  witness  them;  while  in  the  provinces  many 
persons  who,  in  those  non-travelling  days,  had  never 
made  the  journey  to  Paris  took  this  favorable  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  reported  splendor  of  their  capital. 
These  marriage  fetes  formed  an  event  in  the  lives  of 
many  people — an  event  deeply  impressed  on  their 
minds  by  the  terrible  catastrophe  that  terminated 
them;  and  which,  in  after-years,  was  again  brought 
vividly  before  them  by  the  tragic  death,  on  the  same 
spot,  of  the  ill-starred  pair  whom  all  classes  in  France 
were  now  vying  with  each  other  to  honor. 

Never,  perhaps,  was  more  luxury  and  extravagance 
openly  displayed  in  Paris  by  the  court,  the  nobles,  the 
rich  bourgeoisie^  and  by  many  who  were  not  at  all 
rich;  or  more  indignation  expressed  by  those  who 
looked  on,  unable  or  unwilling  to  join  in  the  reckless 
pursuit  of  pleasure — so  prophetic  of  evil — then  franti- 
cally whirling  around  them.  Foreign  visitors  caught 
this  infection  of  folly,  and  sought  to  outrival  the 
Parisians  in  splendid  entertainments  in  celebration  of 
the  inauspicious  event,  in  the  richness  of  their  equi- 
pages and  expensiveness  of  toilet. 

The  public  rejoicings  had  continued  for  six  weeks 
uninterruptedly.  On  the  30th  of  May  they  were  to 
close  with  Xhtfete  of  the  City  of  Paris;  a  banquet  and 
ball;  illuminations,  and  fireworks  at  night  on  the 
Place  Louis  XV.  (now  Place  de  la  Concorde),  that 
were  to  surpass  all  that  had  preceded  them.  Thou- 
sands of  people  assembled  in  the  Place.  It  was  then 
in  course  of  construction,  and  with  the  Rue  Royale, 
also  incomplete,  surrounded  by  a  scaffolding  or  hoard- 


5IO  THE   OLD  REGIME, 

ing  of  wood,  that  closed  the  openings,  except  at  one 
corner,  and  was  made  to  serve  as  a  stand,  or  support, 
for  the  set  pieces.  Most  unfortunately,  through  some 
mismanagement,  this  hoarding  took  fire,  and  burnt 
rapidly.  No  means  were  at  hand  for  extinguishing 
the  flames,  and  there  being  but  one  egress  for  the 
mass  of  people  that  filled  this  spacious  square,  in- 
stantly, with  eager  haste,  all  endeavored  to  make 
for  it. 

Crushing  upon  each  other,  hundreds  were  suffocated 
by  the  pressure;  those  that  fell  were  trampled  to 
death.  Groans  and  screams  "arose  from  earth  to 
heaven  in  one  wild  shriek."  Frantic  cries  for  help, 
that  none  could  render.  Sounds  of  agony  rent  the 
air,  thrilling  with  painfulest  emotion  through  the 
breasts  of  all  who,  powerless  to  aid,  were  witnesses  of 
this  fearful  scene.  Many  rushed  desperately  through 
the  wall  of  flame  that  surrounded  them  as  a  funeral 
pyre,  and,  burnt  and  bleeding,  found  a  terrible  death 
in  the  excavations  then  making  for  the  formation  of 
the  Rue  Royale,  A  number  of  the  police  scattered 
among  the  people  in  the  enclosure  perished  with 
them.  In  the  fearful  disorder  that  prevailed,  they 
also,  naturally,  shared  in  the  mad  struggle  for  life. 
Nothing,  in  fact,  could  be  done  until  the  fire  had 
burnt  itself  out,  and  the  extent  of  the  calamity  was 
ascertained. 

Then  the  dead  were  separated  from  the  dying;  the 
sufferings  of  the  wounded  and  burnt  attended  to  in 
the  hospital,  and  convents,  and  nearest  hotels.  In 
none,  it  is  said,  were  sympathy,  hospitality,  and  kind 
care  more  freely  shown  than  in  the  hotel  of  the  Com- 
tesse  du  Barry.  The  youthful  couple,  greatly  dis- 
tressed at  so  sad  a  disaster,  gave  their  first  year's 


MARIE  ANTOINETTE, 


511 


allowance,  which  had  just  been  paid  to  them  for  their 
menus plaisirSy  towards  mitigating  the  misery  that  had 
fallen  on  many  poor  people.  Few,  indeed,  failed  to 
make  an  offering  according  to  their  means  for  the 
same  charitable  purpose. 

But  money,  had  it  been  more  abundant  and  liber- 
ally forthcoming,  could  not  avail  to  soothe  to  any 
great  extent  the  wide-spread  sorrow  and  suffering  oc- 
casioned by  this  lamentable  event.  Neither  the  suf- 
ferers nor  the  survivors  were  all  of  the  poorer  class. 
Grief,  deep  and  acute,  prevailed  in  many  a  well-to-do 
household,  from  the  sudden  and  terrible  form  of  its 
bereavements. 

The  six  weeks  of  frenzied  dissipation  closing  in 
"  lamentation,  mourning,  and  woe,"  seem  to  have  been, 
as  it  were,  a  foreshadowing  of  the  career  of  the  frivo- 
lous, vain,  and  unfortunate  Marie  Antoinette  ;  on 
whose  account  all  these  revels  took  place  that  were 
indirectly  the  cause  of  the  sad  catastrophe.  In  her 
after-life  she  was  calumniated  in  her  intentions,  doubt- 
less, though  inexcusable  in  her  conduct;  which,  worse 
than  thoughtless,  deserved  censure,  justified  suspicion, 
and  invited  calumny.  Some  apology  may  be  found 
for  her  errors  in  the  earlier  period  of  her  life,  in  her 
wretched  bringing-up,  and  the  trying  position  she  was 
thrown  into,  at  an  age  scarcely  beyond  childhood,  that 
of  "  the  first  lady"  (the  queen  being  dead)  in  the  gayest 
and  after  that  of  Catherine  of  Russia,  the  most  disso- 
lute court  in  Europe. 


CHAPTER    XLVII. 

Stanislaus  Poniatowski. — Madame  Geoffrin  at  Vienna. — L'Autri- 
chienne. — Mesdamesthe  King's  Daughters. — "Gros  Madame." 
— L'Ingenue. — The  Court  of  the  Dauphine. — A  Marriage  on 
the  Tapis. — "Nineveh  shall  be  Overthrown." — The  Candle 
Extinguished. — "  Et  Pourtant,    il  etait  a  Fontenoy!" 

When  Catherine  II.  placed  Stanislaus  Poniatowski 
on  the  throne  of  Poland,  he  wrote  off  to  Madame 
Geoffrin,  as  soon  as  he  was  settled  in  his  palace, 
"Maman,  your  son  is  a  king.  Come  and  see  him." 
Poniatowski  had  been  "  formed,"  for  his  part,  in  the 
salon  of  Madame  Geoffrin.  He  was  a  philosopher,  an 
admirer  of  Voltaire,  and  the  friend  of  his  disciples, 
d'Alembert,  Marmontel,  and  Diderot.  Proud  of  her 
brilliant  pupil,  of  his  many  accomplishments  and  suc- 
cess in  society,  Madame  Geoffrin  was  accustomed  to 
call  him  her  son.  She  paid  the  debts  he  contracted  in 
Paris,  and  kept  his  pockets  fairly  supplied  with  loose 
cash. 

That  she  had  much  regard  for  him  appeared  in  the 
readiness  with  which  she  responded  to  his  invitation. 
For  it  was  her  habit  to  live  all  the  year  round  in  the 
Rue  St.  Honore,  where,  she  said,  the  air  was  good  and 
agreed  with  her,  and  that  the  trouble  and  fatigue  of 
moving  about  did  not.  She  was  then  nearly  seventy, 
but,  at  the  bidding  of  her  adopted  son,  she  without 
delay  undertook  the  then  arduous  journey  to  Warsaw. 
Once  fairly  on  her  travels,  the  great  event  soon  became 


MADAME   GEOFFRIN  AT  VIENNA.  513 

known  ;  and  Madame  Geoffrin,  for  whose  extraordi- 
nary celebrity — unless  derived  from  her  reputation  as 
"the  foster-mother  of  philosophers" — it  is  difficult  to 
account,  was  entreated  by  the  Empresses  of  Austria 
and  Russia  to  visit  Vienna  and  St.  Petersburg. 

Poniatowski  received  her  with  almost  royal  honors; 
and  the  magnificence  with  which  the  fascinating  rou^ — 
thanks  to  Russian  bayonets — was  then  surrounded 
greatly  rejoiced  the  heart  of  his  adopted  mother.  It 
was  whispered  about  that  Madame  Geoffrin  had  not 
disdained  to  be  the  bearer  of  some  political  secret. 
But  whether  true  or  not,  she  was  welcomed  by  Marie 
Th6r^se  with  great  cordiality,  and  entertained  with 
much  distinction.  The  wily  empress  drew  from  her 
flattered  guest  all  possible  information  concerning  the 
court  of  Versailles  and  the  society  of  Paris.  Her 
daughters  were  introduced,  and  the  little  Marie  An- 
toinette, then  between  ten  and  eleven,  greatly  attracted 
Madame  Geoffrin. 

"  Here  is  a  charming  little  archduchess,"  she  said, 
taking  the  child  on  her  lap.  **  How  I  should  like  to 
carry  her  away  with  me  to  Paris !" 

"  Take  her,  take  her,"  replied  Marie  Th^r^se,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"But  I  do  not  choose  to  go,"  exclaimed  the  child; 
and,  before  she  could  be  prevented,  she  escaped  from 
the  room. 

When  Madame  Geoffrin  returned,  and  reopened  her 
salon,  the  account  she  gave  of  the  incidents  of  her 
journey  and  her  visits  to  foreign  courts  excited  great 
interest.  Soon  after  it  became  known  that  a  matri- 
monial alliance  with  Austria  was  on  the  carpet,  and 
the  lady  who  had  seen  the  future  Queen  of  France- 
was  visited  and  consulted  as  an  oracle.    As  the  an- 


514  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

swers  of  oracles  are  generally  reputed  to  have  been» 
so  were  those  of  Madame  Geoffrin — vague,  yet  bear- 
ing the  most  favorable  interpretation,  and  ultimately 
disappointing  the  hopes  of  the  inquirer.  It  was  said 
that  Mesdames  had  privately  conferred  with  her,  and 
that  to  them  she  had  spoken  less  vaguely.  She  had 
found  the  court  of  Vienna  dull,  to  a  degree  that  as- 
tonished her;  the  ceremonious  courtesy  of  French 
society  wanting,  and  the  little  archduchess  in  need 
of  much  "forming." 

The  king's  four  spinster  daughters,  of  whom  the 
youngest,  Louise  Marie  (rather  deformed,  very  ill- 
tempered,  but  very  devout,  and  who  took  the  veil  at 
this  time),  was  thirty-seven,  and  the  eldest  forty-three, 
possessed  immense  influence  over  the  dauphin.  Ma- 
dame Adelaide,  who  had  some  superstitious  objection 
to  an  Austrian  princess  reigning  in  France,  was  the 
first  to  use  disdainfully  the  epithet  "  I'Autrichienne" 
to  designate  Marie  Antoinette.  To  her  mind  it  con- 
veyed the  idea  of  the  absence  of  all  the  fascinations 
of  a  Frenchwoman;  the  utter  want  of  the  fine  man- 
ners which  distinguished  the  polished  and  exigeante^  if 
corrupt,  court  of  France.  The  slatternly,  idle,  and 
ill-behaved  German  girl  was  Madame  Adelaide's 
aversion,  and  she  communicated  her  feelings  to  the 
dauphin,  so  far  as  his  unimpressionable  temperament 
was  capable  of  receiving  them. 

Madame  Adelaide  had  forgotten  her  own  youthful 
days,  when,  rough-mannered  and  boisterous,  she 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  a  boy  in  petticoats. 
She  scraped  away  lustily  on  a  violin  in  those  times, 
climbed  trees,  jumped  over  tables  and  chairs,  and 
went  through  the  soldiers'  exercise,  as  far  as  she 
knew  it;  her  great   regret  being  that,  as  a  girl,  she 


*  •  GROS  MADAME.  '*  5 1 5 

could  not  "lead  the  drums  ior  papa  rot,*'  The  king 
used  then  to  call  her  his  "dragon."  She  had  been  on 
more  friendly  terms  than  the  rest  of  the  royal  family 
with  Madame  de  Pompadour.  She  and  Madame  and 
the  king  took  their  coffee  together  in  the  morning; 
the  king,  who  excelled  in  such  matters,  always  pre- 
paring it  himself.  Then  there  was  Madame  Victoire, 
who  most  resembled  Louis  XV.,  and  whose  deep  blue 
eyes,  like  his  own,  had  been  greatly  admired.  Vic- 
toire was  the  daughter  he  called  "  Pig."  Madame 
Sophie  ("  Raven")  was  third  on  the  list,  and  very  like 
Marie  Leczinska  in  features  and  kindly  disposition. 

There  were  yet  two  other  Mesdames,  in  whom 
^arie  Antoinette  found  more  congenial  companions, 
though  a  year  or  two  younger  than  herself.  They 
were  the  sisters  of  the  dauphin,  Madame  Clotilde  and 
Madame  Elizabeth.  The  former  was  so  enormously 
fat  that  she  was  familiarly  known  by  the  sobriquet  of 
"Gros  Madame."  When,  in  1777,  she  married  the 
Prince  de  Piedmont,  brother  of  the  two  princesses  of 
Savoy,  brides  of  Monsieur  and  the  Comte  d'Artois,  the 
following  epigram  went  the  round  of  the  salons: 

'*  Le  bon  Savoyard  qui  reclame 
Le  prix  de  son  double  present. 
En  ^change  regoit  Madame, 
C'est  le  payer  bien  grassement."  * 

One  would  have  thought  that  when  a  bagatelle  like 
this  could  interest  and  amuse  society,  more  leniency 
would  have  been  shown  to  the  frivolities  and  silly  re- 

*  "The  good  Savoyard  who  demands 
The  price  of  the  double  gift  sent, 
In  exchange  has  Madame  on  his  hands; 
Overpaid  thus,  he  must  be  content." 


5i6  THE  OLD  RAGIME. 

marks  of  a  gay-hearted  but  ill-taught  girl.  But 
Marie  Antoinette  was  disliked  from  the  first.  That 
Choiseul  who  arranged  the  marriage  should,  on  her 
arrival,  have  been  in  disgrace  was  a  great  disadvan* 
tage  to  her.  Owing  to  her  cruel  and  unmerited  fate, 
she  has  been  idealized  into  a  vision  of  youthful 
beauty,  grace,  and  goodness.  It  is  certain,  however, 
that  her  manners  were  offensive  and  her  temper 
violent,  needing  constant  rebuke;  and  that  when  at 
Fontainebleau,  in  1771,  serious  thoughts  were  enter- 
tained of  seeking  a  divorce. 

Marie  Therese,  so  neglectful  of  essentials  in  the 
bringing  up  of  her  daughter,  had  been  very  careful  to 
instruct  her — with  reference  to  Madame  du  Barry — 
"  that  she  must  take  things  as  they  were,  and  keep  on 
good  terms  with  thecomtesse,  and,  if  necessary,  flatter 
her,"  in  order  to  be  successful  in  her  own  views — 
flattering  and  pleasing  Louis  XV.  Poor  Marie  Antoi- 
nette on  arriving  at  Versailles  began  to  act  on  this 
advice.  Not  having  the  art,  of  course,  of  so  expe- 
rienced a  flatterer  as  the  wily  empress-queen,  she 
occupied  herself  with  Madame  du  Barry  in  a  manner 
that  offended  both  her  and  the  king.  The  questions 
she  put  to  Madame  de  Noailles,  and  her  observations 
to  others — repeated  and  laughed  at  until  they  had 
gone  the  round  of  the  court  and  been  considerably 
amplified  on  their  progress — were  not  set  down  to  the 
ingenuousness  of  an  innocent  girl.  She  played  re- 
markably well,  it  was  thought,  the  rdle  of  ingenue; 
much  better,  indeed,  than  they  gave  her  credit,  some 
years  later  on,  for  playing  soubrettes,  and  other  parts, 
in  which  she  was  so  fond  of  exhibiting  herself — acting 
and  singing  "  royally  ill,"  as  those  who  flattered  her 
most  to  her  face  were  accustomed  to  say  in  her  absence. 


A  MAR/ilAGE  ON  THE    TAP  IB,  517 

When,  two  years  after,  Monsieur  and  the  Comte 
d'Artois  married  the  young  princesses  of  Savoy, 
Marie  Antoinette  found  life  more  genial  and 
pleasant  at  Versailles.  This  party  of  married  boys 
and  girls  became  very  intimate;  formed  themselves 
into  a  society  apart ;  dined  and  supped  in  private 
together,  with  a  small  intimate  circle  of  their  own, 
composed  of  the  youngest  and  most  thoughtless  of 
the  court  They  danced,  and  sang,  and  performed 
plays  in  secret;  defying  all  the  rules  of  etiquette,  and 
often  their  revels  led  to  desperate  quarrels.  The 
dauphin  held  himself  much  aloof  from  this  vivacious 
coterie,  of  which  the  Comte  d'Artois  and  the  dauphine 
were  the  hero  and  heroine.  Mesdames  were  horrified  ; 
absented  themselves  from  the  card-tables,  which,  as 
the  first  lady  of  the  court — a  severe  mortification  to 
Madame  Adelaide — were  now  placed  in  the  apart- 
ment of  the  dauphine.  Madame,  however,  set  up  her 
own  tables,  carrying  with  her  Madame  de  Noailles 
and  all  the  elder  ladies  of  the  court ;  for  they  had  dis- 
covered thay  they  and  their  etiquette  were  subjects  of 
jest  and  laughter  in  the  rackety  court  of  the  dauphine. 

At  about  this  time  Cardinal  de  Bernis  made  a  jour- 
ney to  Rome,  with  a  view  of  inducing  the  Pope  to 
dissolve  the  marriage  of  Madame  du  Barry.  Louis 
XV.  had  once  told  Choiseul  that  he  would  have  no 
"  Dame  de  Maintenon"  at  his  court.  It  now  appeared 
that  he  had  changed  his  mind,  and  contemplated  a 
morganatic  marriage  with  Madame  du  Barry.  Her 
husband,  Count  Guillaume  du  Barry,  had  obligingly 
furthered  his  views,  and  a  "  sentence  of  separation"  was 
pronounced  by  the  tribunals.  But  the  little  fat  cardi- 
nal failed  in  his  mission  to  Rome.  Not  that  his  holi- 
ness was  unwilling  to  yield  to  the  behest  of  his  most 


5l§  THE  OLD  REGIME. 

Christian  majesty  ;  but  the  marriage  of  Madame  du 
Barry  being  legally  recognized,  the  Church,  it  was 
said,  had  not  the  power  to  dissolve  it. 

The  difficulty,  notwithstanding,  would  probably 
have  been  overcome  at  no  distant  date,  had  not  the 
king  been  attacked  by  a  fatal  disease  which  unexpect- 
edly brought  his  inglorious  career  to  an  end. 

On  the  27th  April,  1774,  as  Louis  XV.  was  on  his 
road  to  the  hunt  in  the  forest  of  St.  Germain,  he  and 
his  party  came  in  contact  with  a  funeral  procession. 
The  road  being  narrow,  they  drew  aside  to  allow  it  to 
pass.  In  reply  to  inquiries,  they  were  informed  that  it 
was  the  funeral  of  a  young  person  who  had  died  of  the 
small-pox.  The  king  was  supposed  to  have  had  this 
disease  in  his  childhood — a  slight  eruption,  from 
which  he  entirely  recovered,  after  an  indisposition  of 
a  few  days,  having  been  mistaken  for  it.  When, 
therefore,  he  was  taken  ill,  on  the  30th  of  April,  his 
physicians,  having  no  suspicion  of  small-pox,  at  once 
bled  him  freely.  Continuing  to  grow  worse,  and  the 
nature  of  his  disease  becoming  developed  in  its  most 
malignant  form,  precautions  were  taken  for  isolating 
the  young  princes  and  princesses,  who,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  dauphine,  had  not  had  the  small-pox. 

In  one  of  the  Lenten  sermons,  two  or  three  weeks 
before,  the  Bishop  of  Senez,  M.  de  Beauvais,  had 
taken  for  his  text,  when  preaching  before  the  king, 
"  Yet  forty  days,  and  Nineveh  shall  be  overthrown." 
A  stirring  discourse,  in  which  Paris  and  its  dissolute 
society  were  compared  to  Nineveh  and  its  inhabitants, 
and  coming  retribution  foretold,  had  caught  the  con- 
science of  the  king.  He  could  not  get  the  subject  out  of 
his  thoughts,  and  was  anxious  for  the  end  of  these  forty 
Lenten  days.     Madame  du  Barry,   to  whom  he  com- 


THE  CANDLE  EXTINGUISHED.  519 

municated  his  fears,  was  no  less  so,  being  extremely 
superstitious ;  while  the  aged  libertine,  Richelieu, 
laughed  at  them  both,  and  endeavored  to  cheer  the 
king.  Two  hundred  thousand  francs  were  given  to 
the  poor  and  for  prayers  to  Ste.  Genevieve,  but  with- 
out avail.  Whether  or  not  it  be  true,  as  asserted  by 
some  French  writers,  that  Louis  XV.  really  regarded 
the  bishop's  sermon  as  prophetic,  and  having  relation 
to  himself,  it  is  singular  that  on  the  fortieth  day  after 
its  delivery  he  was  conveyed  to  St.  Denis  for  burial;  as 
ignominiously  as  his  predecessor  had  been  near  sixty 
years  before.  His  three  daughters,  who  remained 
with  him  in  his  illness,  took  the  disease,  but  recovered  ; 
though  with  its  disfiguring  traces  piteous  to  see. 
Several  of  his  attendants  died  ;  and  the  lives  of  two 
or  three  priests,  whose  duty  it  was  to  watch  by  this 
mass  of  corruption  during  the  night,  were  sacrificed 
also. 

The  youthful  royal  family,  assembled  in  a  distant 
apartment,  anxiously  awaited  the  signal  of  death — the 
extinguishing  of  a  candle  in  the  window  of  the  king's 
bed-chamber.  At  last  the  light  disappears.  All  pre- 
parations have  been  made  for  departure.  The  car, 
riage  that  is  to  convey  them  to  Choisy  stands  ready  at 
the  entrance — the  horses  and  servants  anxious  as  them- 
selves to  set  off.  They  are  rather  subdued,  these  six 
young  people,  but,  on  the  whole,  far  from  sad;  for  a 
lively  remark  of  the  Comtesse  d'Artois,  on  the  odd- 
ness  of  the  manner  of  their  journey,  breaks  the  spell, 
elicits  a  hearty  laugh  from  the  whole  party,  and  at 
once  there  is  an  end  to  their  mourning. 

The  body  of  the  king  was  put  in  a  coffin  and  cov- 
ered with  lime.  The  first  conveyance  at  hand  was 
brought  forth,  and  the  coffin  thrust  into  it.     Twenty 


J 46  THE   OLD  MgIMM. 

attendants,  in  their  ordinary  dress,  without  sign  of 
mourning,  followed  with  torches,  and  the  procession 
set  out  for  St.  Denis,  "at  a  fast  trot,"  as  Bezenval 
says  in  his  graphic,  and  probably  the  most  trust- 
worthy, account  of  the  illness  and  death  of  Louis  XV. 
Those  who  encountered  this  funeral  convoy  saluted  it 
with  an  imprecation  or  a  handful  of  mud.  Not  a  soul 
regretted  this  worthless  king.  But  a  veteran  soldier 
shouldered  his  musket  and  saluted  as  the  procession 
passed  out  of  the  gates  of  Versailles,  in  the  dea^  of 
the  night,  on  the  13th  of  May,  1774.  ^^Et pourtant,'' 
murmured  the  old  soldier,  regretfully,  "  //  ^tait  a  Fon- 
tenoyr 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

The  Last  Lettre-de-Cachet.— "  The  Rights  of  Man."— "The 
Crown  Chafes. " — The  Young  King  and  Queen. — The  Queen's 
Coiffeur. — Hurrying  on  to  Perdition. — Visits  to  Luviciennes. 
— The  Due  de  Coss^-Brissac. — Voltaire's  Return  to  Paris. — 
Voltaire's  Reception. — Death  of  Lekain. — Les  Femmes  Phi- 
losophes. — France  Crowns  Voltaire, — Death  of  Voltaire. — 
L'lle  des  Peupliers.— The  End  of  the  Old  R6gime. 

"  A  FINE  reign  which  begins  with  a  lettre-de-cachetr 
said  Madame  du  Barry,  when,  with  the  politest  of 
bows,  the  Due  de  La  Vrilli^re  presented  himself  at 
Ruel,  whither  she  had  retired  at  the  request  of  the  late 
king,  and  handed  her  the  order  to  repair  forthwith  to 
the  Abbaye  of  Pont-aux-Dames.  Had  she  known 
what  was  taking  place  beyond  court  circles,  she  would 
have  said  "  which  ends"  rather  than  "  which  begins." 
For  La  Vrilliere,  who  had  grown  old  at  the  head  of 
the  "  Administration  des  Lettres-de-Cachet,"  having 
"never  had  the  honor,"  as  Madame  de  Pompadour 
said,  "of  being  dismissed  from  that  post" — very 
shortly  after  found  that  his  occupation  was  gone. 

He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  furnishing  those  letters 
to  his  mistress,  Madame  de  Sabatin,  in  lieu  of  the 
ample  sum  she  needed  for  pin-money.  Any  one, 
therefore,  desirous  of  quietly  getting  rid  of  a  husband, 
brother,  or  father,  wife  or  daughters,  had  but  to  make 
a  present  to  Madame  de  Sebatin.  One  of  the  last — 
perhaps  the  very    last — lettre- de-cachet  issued  by  royal 


522 


THE  OLD  rAGIME. 


command  was  that  which  recommended  the  maitresse- 
en-titre  of  Louis  XV.  to  seclude  herself  for  awhile  in 
the  retreat  pointed  out  to  her.  The  people  would 
submit  to  no  more  of  these  iniquities;  and  although 
at  times,  in  the  succeeding  reign,  a  refractory  noble 
was  invited  to  reside  at  his  estate,  he  usually  declined 
the  invitation,  now  that  it  was  not  made  by  letter. 
France  had  accepted  the  oft-repeated  saying  of  Louis 
XV.,  "After  us  the  deluge;"  accepted  it  as  a  consola- 
tory truth,  as  a  guarantee,  over  and  above  its  own 
secret  resolve,  that  the  state  of  things  then  existing 
under  him  should  come  to  an  end  with  his  reign. 
The  tottering  old  monarchy  and  the  effete  ancient 
rigime  were  therefore  buried  together  in  the  unhon- 
ored  tomb  of  "Louis,  le  Bien-aime,"  and  the  nation 
looked  forward  with  hope  to  the  expected  reforms  of 
the  new  reign. 

The  many  startling  events  of  that  reign;  the  im- 
politic acts  of  the  weak  but  well-intentioned  king;  the 
censurable  ones  of  his  thoughtless  and  frivolous  queen, 
can  of  course  be  only  referred  to,  and  that  in  the 
briefest  possible  manner,  in  the  few  concluding  pages 
L)f  this  volume. 

The  old  regime  was  at  end;  an  entire  change  of  scene 
at  hand;  and  "the  rights  of  man,"  in  the  philosophic 
sense,  were  about  to  be  loudly  asserted.  "  I  see  the 
seeds  of  a  revolution  everywhere  scattering  around 
me,"  said  Voltaire — "  a  revolution  that  will,  in  due 
season,  unfailingly  arrive,  though  I  shall  not  have  the 
pleasure  of  witnessing  it.  There  will  then  be  a  fine 
tumult.  The  young  people  are  lucky  indeed;  they 
will  see  wonderful  doings.  The  French  are  tardy  in 
all  things;  but  in  the  end  they  attain  their  objects." 
Such  was  the  situation  of  affairs  and  the  feeling  of  the 


THE  CROWI^  CffAFES,  ^2^ 

country  when  Louis  XVI.,  not  yet  twenty  years  of 
age,  utterly  ignorant  of  the  routine  of  government 
and  business  of  State,  and  giving  no  evidence  of  the 
possession  of  qualities  for  successfully  coping  with  the 
difficulties  of  the  position  he  was  entering  upon,  was 
crowned  at  Rheims. 

The  crown  being  placed  rather  uncomfortably  on 
his  head,  "  It  chafes,"  he  said.  Those  present  who 
heard  his  remark  were  struck  by  it  as  an  unfavorable 
omen — for  this  atheistical  and  philosophical  age  was 
remarkably  superstitious.  Henri  III.  had  said  on  a 
similar  occasion,  "  It  pricks."  Was  there  possibly  a  fate 
similar  to  his  in  reserve  for  Louis  XVI.  ?  Who  could 
tell  ?  Yet  the  similitude  of  his  remark  seemed  a  pre- 
sage of  evil.  On  the  other  hand,  hopes  were  high  with 
a  portion  of  the  Parisians.  Though  hitherto  a  nullity, 
whom  no  one  had  thought  of,  what  was  now  reported 
of  his  private  life  and  principles  was  encouraging,  and 
the  hopes  and  expectations  of  his  people  were  made 
known  to  him,  as  he  passed  through  Paris,  by  the 
word  "  Resurrexit,"  placed  conspicuously  in  large 
characters  on  the  statue  of  Henri  IV.  The  young 
king  was  affected.  "Oh!  what  a  grand  word!"  he 
exclaimed,  wnth  emotion. 

With  new  responsibilities,  and  positions  more  promi- 
nent and  assured,  the  different  characters  of  the  king 
and  his  brothers  became  more  fully  developed.  The 
incapacity  of  Louis  XVI.  was  very  soon  patent  to  both 
court  and  people.  "  His  soul,"  says  Sainte-Beuve, 
"was  unfitted  by  its  very  virtues  for  the  role  of  king." 
He  was  sincerely  pious,  truly  kind  and  humane;  but 
there  was  nothing  brilliant  or  attractive  in  him,  either 
intellectually  or  personally.  The  queen,  for  some 
years,  though  she  interfered  greatly  in  affairs  of  State, 


524  ^^^   ^^^  REGIME. 

and  intrigued  to  establish  her  favorites  in  influential 
posts,  had  no  influence  with  the  king.  He  was  guided, 
unfortunately  for  him,  by  the  Comte  de  Maurepas,  who 
had  been  twenty-three  years  banished  from  the  court, 
and  was  recalled,  to  be  the  confidential  minister  of  an 
inexperienced  king,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mesdames. 
The  tastes  and  pursuits  of  Marie  Antoinette  and  Louis 
XVI.  were  wholly  dissimilar.  He  was  methodical  in 
his  habits,  moderate  in  his  expenditure,  and  his  recre- 
ations were  of  the  soberest  kind.  The  queen  was 
incapable  of  giving  her  mind  to  any  but  the  most 
frivolous  occupations.  She  passed  her  time  like  a 
professional  actress — her  only  study,  the  part  she  was 
to  sing  or  play  in  the  afternoon  or  evening.  Or  she 
was  rehearsing  with  the  actor  Dazincourt,  who  in- 
structed her  in  her  favorite  roles — the  soubrettes  j  or 
inventing  with  Mdlle.  Guimard  new  toilets;  or  head- 
dresses of  the  most  ridiculous  extravagance  in  height 
and  breadth.  Leonard,  her  hair-dresser,  could  put 
from  ten  to  twenty  yards  of  gauze  in  a  lady's  head- 
dress, a  damask  table-cloth,  or — as  he  once  elegantly 
introduced  into  a  head  -  dress  —  a  lady's  cambric 
chemise. 

Marie  Antoinette  grew  considerably  during  the  four 
years  that  elapsed  from  her  marriage  to  the  death  of 
Louis  XV.  When  she  came  to  the  throne,  she  was 
about  the  middle  height.  Her  figure  had  improved, 
though,  from  her  lounging,  careless  habits,  she  had 
been  bandaged  and  compressed,  to  prevent  one  shoul- 
der growing  out.  Her  long  neck  now  carried  her 
head  very  gracefully,  and  without  being  either  beau- 
tiful or  pretty,  as  her  confidential  friend,  Bezenval, 
tells  us,  the  expression  of  her  features  was  agreeable 
when  she  was  in  a  good  humor.     This  was  not  too 


HURRYING  ON   TO  PERDITION.  525 

often  the  case,  it  appears.  The  quarrels,  and  scenes 
of  violence,  among  the  youthful  royal  family  are 
lamentable  to  read  of.  The  Comtesse  de  Provence 
had  the  intensest  dislike  to  the  queen,  and  her  hus- 
band shared  her  feeling. 

Her  midnight  rambles  with  the  Comte  d'Artois; 
their  opera  balls;  their  visits  to  Ramponeau's  tea- 
garden,  in  the  Courtille  des  Porcherons;  the  queen's 
confessed  enjoyment  of  the  Shrove  Tuesday  saturnalia 
at  the  latter  low  place  of  amusement ,  as  well  as  the 
extraordinary  indiscretions  that  gave  rise  to  calum- 
nious reports  against  her,  are  all  too  well  known. 
The  letters  of  the  Comte  de  Mercy  d'Argenteau  have 
revealed  nothing  new;  but  they  have  confirmed  much 
that  before  was  deemed  doubtful.  The  affair  of  the 
necklace;  Beaumarchais'  calumny;  the  sensation  cre- 
ated by  his  "Marriage  of  Figaro,"  and  the  queen's  per- 
formance of  Susanna — all  these  things,  and  many 
similar  ones,  are  also  familiar. 

While  the  queen  was  "  hurrying  on  to  perdition,"  as 
the  empress,  her  mother,  wrote  to  her,  Madame  du 
Barry  was  holding  her  court  at  Luviciennes.  She  had 
won  golden  opinions  from  the  nuns  of  the  Abbaye  of 
Pont-aux-Dames.  And  when,  at  the  end  of  a  year  and 
a  half,  she  wrote  to  Maurepas  that  "  if  she  had  ever 
known  any  of  the  secrets  of  State,  she  had  now  en- 
tirely forgotten  them,"  he  replied  that  all  things 
should  have  an  end;  that  she  was  at  liberty  to  re- 
turn to  Luviciennes,  and  to  visit  Paris  whenever  she 
pleased.  "  Her  sweetness  and  grace  had  been  remark- 
able," he  said,  "  and  he  was  glad  she  had  thought  so 
well  of  him  as  to  make  her  application  to  him."  He 
had  also  to  inform  her  that  the  king  was  pleased  to 
grant  her  a  pension  of  two  thousand  crowns. 


526  THE  OLD  REGIME, 

The  pension  was  certainly  unnecessary.  Madame 
du  Barry  was  wealthy.  Her  chateau  and  grounds 
were  a  kind  of  little  paradise,  and,  like  the  Due  de 
Choiseul  in  his  exile  at  Chanteloup,  she  had  always  a 
circle  of  friends  around  her.  The  Due  de  Deux-Ponts 
sent  his  minister  to  bid  her  remember  that  there  was 
always  a  safe  retreat,  with  a  warm  reception  awaiting 
her,  in  his  domains.  The  King  of  Sweden,  Gustave 
III.,  went  to  her,  and  made  a  similar  offer,  and  Joseph 
II.,  when  in  France,  spent  a  whole  day  at  Luviciennes. 
The  gardens  are  said  to  have  been  beautiful.  With 
Madame  du  Barry  on  his  arm,  the  emperor  visited  all 
the  wonders  of  her  little  paradise.  When  she  ex- 
pressed her  gratitude  for  his  kind  attentions  to  "a 
poor  recluse,"  "Madame,"  he  replied,  "  beauty  is  al- 
ways queen,  and  the  whole  world  her  empire." 

The  romantic  devotion  of  the  Due  de  Cosse-Brissac 
— Governor  of  Paris  and  colonel  of  the  Cent-gardes 
du  Roi — to  Madame  du  Barry  is  singular.  For  ten 
years,  until  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  Revolution,  he  paid 
her  a  sort  of  passionate  worship;  such  as,  in  the  old 
romances  of  chivalry,  gallant  knights  were  supposed 
to  render  to  the  ladies  to  whom  they  had  sworn  fealty. 
He  had  made  a  will  providing  for  her,  and  recom- 
mending her  to  the  care  of  his  daughter  as  "  one  who 
had  been  very  dear  to  him."  He  had  foreseen  what 
troubles  were  coming  on  France;  the  probability  of 
his  own  death,  and  of  distress  falling  on  her;  but  he 
had  not  anticipated,  it  would  seem,  that  the  guillotine 
would  claim  her  also  as  its  victim.  The  Due  was  be- 
headed not  far  from  Luviciennes,  and  his  bleeding 
head  thrown  into  her  apartment. 

But  before  the  Revolution  had  deluged  France  with 
blood,  and  when  only  the  first  distant  mutterings  of 


VOLTAIRE'S  RETURN   TO  PARIS. 


527 


the  coming  storm  were  heard,  the  aged  philosopher 
who  for  sixty  years  "  made  unrelenting  war  against 
prejudices"  was  desirous  of  once  again  visiting  the 
capital,  from  which  he  had  for  twenty-eight  years  been 
banished.  In  1777  he  had  sent  his  tragedy  of  "  Irene" 
to  the  Thedtre  Fran^ais,  and  some  misconception  of 
the  characters  on  the  part  of  the  actors  had  consider- 
ably annoyed  him.  Patience  in  such  matters  was  not 
one  of  his  virtues.  He  had  therefore  a  further  induce- 
ment to  undertake  the  journey  in  his  wish  to  have  his 
tragedy  rehearsed  under  his  own  eyes.  His  niece,  the 
Marquise  de  Villette,  recently  married  at  Ferney,  but 
now  settled  in  Paris,  urged  him  also  to  come  and  to 
make  her  house  his  home. 

Accompanied  by  Madame  Denis,  he  imprudently 
left  Ferney  at  the  beginning  of  February,  in  weather 
of  extremest  severity.  The  greatest  attention  was 
paid  him  on  the  road,  and  every  precaution  taken  by 
the  postmasters  and  others  to  ensure  his  safety  and 
comfort.  He  arrived  in  Paris  on  the  10th  of  Feb- 
ruary, 1778.  He  was  enveloped  in  a  large  loose  pelisse 
of  crimson  velvet,  with  a  small  gold  cording  at  the 
edges,  and  deeply  bordered  with  sable.  His  travelling 
cap  was  also  of  velvet  and  fur.  It  was  carnival  time, 
and  a  party  of  revellers,  on  the  look-out  for  masks, 
mistook  poor  old  Voltaire  for  a  carnival  reveller,  and 
pursued  him  for  a  considerable  distance.  In  spite  of 
fatigue  and  the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  he  was  no 
sooner  out  of  his  carriage  than  he  set  off  on  foot  to  the 
residence  of  his  dear  angel,  Le  Comte  d'Argental,  who 
returned  with  him  to  the  house  of  M.  de  Villette. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  Voltaire  was  in  Paris, 
it  occasioned  an  immense  stir  and  commotion  amongst 
the  clerg}',  the  philosophers,  and  the  court;  and  indeed 


528  THE   OLD  REGIME. 

amongst  persons  of  all  classes.  "  Voltaire  was  again 
among  them  !"  He  who  had  made  it  the  business  of 
his  life  to  uproot  what  he  conceived  to  be  error,  whose 
feelings  and  opinions,  whether  absent  or  present,  had 
a  predominating  influence  in  France — his  name  was 
on  every  one's  lips,  his  arrival  the  one  subject  of  con- 
versation, and  all  eagerly  desired  to  see  him. 

He  rose  at  seven  on  the  following  morning  to  re- 
ceive the  Prince  de  Beauvau  and  two  other  academi- 
cians deputed  to  welcome  him.  The  rest  of  "  the 
forty "  soon  followed.  D'Alembert,  La  Harpe,  and 
the  philosophic  brotherhood  were  also  among  the  first 
to  offer  their  felicitations  to  their  master  and  the 
patriarch  of  the  sect.  The  French  comedians  arrived 
in  a  body  to  pay  homage  to  him,  and  later  in  the  day 
they  rehearsed  "Irene"  before  him,  as  he  lay  in  bed, 
whither  the  fatigue  of  his  early  reception  at  last  com- 
pelled him  to  retire.  Mdlle.  Clairon,  in  her  enthusiasm, 
fell  on  her  knees  before  him,  he,  unfortunately,  being 
now  too  old  and  stiff  to  do,  as  in  such  cases  he  had 
ever  been  wont  to  do. 

On  the  i2th  Voltaire  was  informed  of  the  death  of 
Lekain,  and  was  so  much  affected  by  it  that  he  re- 
mained for  two  or  three  days  in  strict  seclusion. 
Meanwhile,  courtiers,  ministers,  men  of  letters,  and 
all  persons  of  distinction  in  the  capital,  including 
many  of  the  clergy,  paid  visits  of  congratulation,  or 
made  anxious  inquiries  concerning  his  health.  But  he 
was  not  received  at  Versailles,  and  it  was  rumored  that 
the  Archbishop  of  Paris  had  entreated  the  king  to  order 
him  to  retire  from  the  capital.  But  the  vivacious  old 
poet  made  light  of  these  marks  of  disrespect,  and  aston- 
ished his  admirers  by  his  gayety  and  the  "  prodigious 
vivacity"  of  his  conversation.     The  learned  Madame 


LES  FEMMES  PHILOSOPHES.  529 

Necker  paid  her  respects  to  him;  also  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, then  in  Paris  with  his  nephew,  whom  he  presented 
to  Voltaire  and  asked  his  blessing  upon  him.  He  re- 
plied by  exclaiming  in  English,  and  in  a  loud  voice 
(for  he  was  almost  delirious  with  excitement),  "Lib- 
erty, Tolerance,  and  Probity!"  The  young  Abb6  de 
Perigord  (Talleyrand)  also  craved  the  benediction 
"  of  him  who  had  freed  the  nations  from  the  bondage  of 
error."  Amongst  other  celebrities,  Madame  du  Barry 
is  said  to  have  visited  him.  To  her  great  amusement 
— having  exhausted  his  repertoire  of  gallant  speeches 
— he  addressed  her  ^s"-*- voire  divinit/.**  "The  foster- 
mother  of  philosophers "  was  not  spared  to  witness 
this  apotheosis  of  Voltaire.  She  had  died  in  the  pre- 
vious year;  also  Mdlle.  de  Lespinasse.  Only  Madame  du 
Deffant  still  lived;  but  her  salon  was  closed.  She  was 
about  the  same  age  as  Voltaire,  but  far  less  vivacious 
— inhabiting  an  apartment  in  the  convent  of  St.  Joseph, 
and  while  waiting  for  her  summons  from  this  world 
occasionally  turning  her  thoughts  towards  another — 
nothing  now  being  left  to  this  femnte  philosophe  and 
free-thinker  but,  as  she  wrote  herself,  "  the  dread  of 
eternity." 

The  sixteenth  representation  of  "  Irene"  was  about 
to  take  place.  Voltaire,  from  his  exertions  in  instruct- 
ing the  actors  in  their  parts,  had  been  compelled  to 
keep  his  bed.  Finding  himself  somewhat  better,  he 
determined  on  witnessing  the  performance  of  his 
play.  The  theatre  was  crowded  to  excess.  When  he 
entered  the  box  reserved  for  him — that  of  the  gentle- 
men of  the  bed-chamber — the  whole  of  the  audience 
rose  and  cheered  him  vociferously.  A  cry,  "  Let  him 
be  crowned,"  was  taken  up  and  repeated  in  all  parts 
of  the  house,     Voltaire  bowed  his  thanks,  but  would 


530 


THE   OLD  REGIME, 


have  declined  the  proffered  honor;  nothing  of  that 
kind  having  before  been  attempted  in  France.  But 
the  audience  persisted,  exclaiming — as  Buzard,  who 
played  the  High  Priest  in  "  Irene,"  advanced  with  a 
laurel  crown — "  'Tis  the  people;  'tis  France  that  sends 
it."     He  then  yielded  to  their  wishes. 

The  tragedy  being  ended,  and  while  the  audience 
were  waiting  for  the  after-piece,  the  curtain  unexpect- 
edly rose,  revealing  the  whole  of  the  company  of 
comedians  grouped  around  the  bust  of  Voltaire  ele- 
vated on  a  pedestal  in  the  centre  of  the  stage.  Madame 
Vestris,  who  had  played  Irene,  then  advanced,  and 
recited  an  ode  addressed  to  the  poet,  whose  name 
was  chanted  at  certain  intervals  by  the  rest  of  the 
company,  each  of  whom  held  a  laurel  wreath  in  his 
hand.  The  ode  ended,  the  actors  and  actresses,  pass- 
ing separately  before  the  bust,  placed  their  wreaths 
upon  it,  the  audience  meanwhile  applauding  with 
frenzied  enthusiasm. 

Poor  Voltaire,  greatly  overcome  by  this  scene,  was 
carried  almost  fainting  from  the  theatre,  preceded  by 
an  excited  throng  hailing  him  as  the  Sophocles  and 
Homer  of  France. 

Arrived  at  the  hotel  of  M.  de  Villette,  the  courtyard 
was  found  crowded  with  his  friends  and  people  of  dis- 
tinction, to  offer  their  congratulations  on  his  recovery 
and  the  triumphal  reception  he  had  just  met  with. 
Turning  towards  them,  he  thanked  them  in  a  tone  of 
unusual  emotion  for  the  honors  heaped  upon  him,  and, 
he  added,  "  for  the  glory  under  which  he  was  about 
to  die." 

It  was  his  last  public  appearance.  He  kept  his  bed 
for  some  days,  and,  being  more  composed,  Madame 
Denis,  his  niece,  was  proposing  to  return  with  him  to 


VILE  DES  PEU PLIERS. 


531 


Ferney.  But  excitement  so  continued  had  brought 
his  feeble  frame  to  the  gates  of  death.  He  rallied 
slightly;  was  feverish  and  impatient.  A  large  dose 
of  opium  threw  him  into  a  lethargy.  Momentarily  he 
was  roused  by  the  news  that  the  name  of  Lally-ToUen- 
dal  was  freed  from  the  disgrace  cast  upon  it  by  the 
ignominious  and  unjust  death  he  had  suffered  on  the 
scaffold — a  gleam  of  pleasure  passed  over  his  counte- 
nance, "  I  die  content,"  he  said.  "  I  see  the  king  is 
just." 

His  body  was  embalmed,  and  conveyed  at  night  to 
the  Convent  of  Sellieres.  Before  the  bishop,  who  had 
intended  to  prevent  his  burial,  could  issue  his  order 
to  t*hat  effect  the  ceremony  had  been  performed.  His 
heart  was  enclosed  in  an  urn,  and  placed  by  M.  de 
Villette  in  the  chamber  he  had  used  as  his  study. 
The  urn  bore  this  inscription — "  His  heart  is  here,  his 
spirit  everywhere." 

Thus  ended  the  long  career  of  Voltaire — "  the  man 
who  had  dominated  his  age." 

Rousseau — "  the  one  who  had  disturbed  it" — shortly 
followed  him.  In  July  of  the  same  year — either  dying 
by  his  own  hand  or  suddenly  struck  down  by  apo- 
plexy— Jean-Jacques'  troubles,  discontents,  and  im- 
aginary wrongs  were  brought  to  a  close  at  the  retreat 
M.  de  Girardin  had  provided  him  with  at  Ermenon- 
ville.  He  was  buried  there  on  a  small  island,  Tile  des 
Peu  pliers.  On  the  tomb  raised  to  his  memory  by  M. 
de  Girardin  was  inscribed,  "/a  repose  Vhomme  de  la 
nature  et  la  veriti." 

Through  the  summer  of  1778  it  was  the  fashion  to 
make  the  "  philosophic  pilgrimage "  to  the  tomb  of 
Jean-Jacques.  Marie  Antoinette  visited  it;  Madame 
du  Barry  also — "  Le  Devin  du  Village"  being  per- 


532 


THE  OLD  RAGIME. 


formed,  on  their  return,  at  their  private  theatres. 
Later  in  the  year,  when  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Pro- 
vence was  hunting  in  the  Capitainerie  de  Chantiily, 
the  hounds  pursued  the  stag  to  the  He  des  Peupliers; 
and  "without,  at  the  time,  being  aware  of  it,"  said 
Monsieur,  "the  animal  was  killed  on  the  tomb  of 
Vhomme  de  la  nature. " 

How  the  remains  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  were 
disturbed  by  the  monsters  of  the  Revolution  is  well 
known.  How  liberty  degenerated  into  license,  and 
how  Louis  XVL  and  his  queen  from  weakness  to 
weakness,  from  folly  to  folly,  too  rapidly,  and  too 
surely,  hurried  on  to  their  fate,  are  facts  no  less 
familiar  to  every  one. 

Here  then  we  leave  them,  with  feelings  of  pity  and 
sympathy;  for  the  fate  of  Louis  XVL  was  due  far 
more  to  the  despotism  and  depravity  of  his  predeces- 
sors than  to  political  mistakes  and  faults  of  his  own. 
Both  he  and  his  queen  may,  in  fact,  be  regarded  as 
the  scapegoats  of  the  vices  of  the  Old  Regime. 


INDEX. 


Academy  of  Music,  54, 406 
Achraet  III.,  104 
Adelaide,  Mad.,  383,  514,  517 
Agenois.  Due  d',  251,  257 
Aidye,  Chevalier  d',   125,  322 
Aiguillon,  Count  d',  504 
Aiguillon,  Duchesse  d',  37 
Alss6,  Mademoiselle,  98;  in  Ma- 
dame de  Tencin's  salon,  125, 
185;    her    illness,    218;    her 
death,  222;  269 
Aix  -  la  -  Chapelle,     Peace      of, 
signed,    304 ;    consequences, 
357 J  382;  conditions  of,  477 
Alberoni,  Cardinal,  70 
Alembcrt,   d',  at    Madame    de 
Tencin's,  209,  217;  and  Ma- 
demoiselle  Clairon,  245;    an 
*' Economist,"  345;    prepares 
the   Encyclopaedia,  353,  441; 
privilege  withdrawn,  446;  and 
MademoiselleLespinasse,4S7, 
488,  490;  512;  visits  Voltaire, 
528 
Alincourt,  Duchesse  d',  179 
Amiens,  Bishop  of,  438 
Angennes,  Julie  d',  31 
Angevillc,  Mademoiselle  d',  209, 

244 
Angletferre,  Madame  Henriette 

d',  496 
Anne  of  Austria,  155,  508 
Anne  of  Brittany,  161,  169 
Anquetil,  27.  424 
Antier,  Mademoiselle,  187,  202 
Antragues,  Madame  d',  143 
Argenson,  Le  Comte  d*,  head  of 
police   department,    70;    141; 
organizes  the  secret   system, 
152;    181;    on    conversation. 


Argenson,  Lc  Comte  d',  {contd.) 
220;  and  Madame  de  Chi- 
teauroux,  256,  258;  and  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour,  278, 
282;  opinion  of  M.  Geoflfrin, 
313;  his  character,  316;  mem- 
ber of  the  cabinet  J,  342;  con- 
nection with  the  Ecole  Mili- 
taire,  362;  commanded  to  re- 
sign, 436,  437;  grants  priv- 
ilege to  d'Alembert,  446;  450 

Argental,  Le  Comte  d',  in  Ma- 
dame de  Tencin's  salon,  122; 
193;  wishes  to  marry  Adri- 
enne  Le  Couvreur,  199;  209, 
225,  226,  439;  accompanies 
Voltaire,  527 

Argenteau,  Comte  de  Mercy  d*, 

525 
Arnaud,  Baculard  d',  389,  394 
Arnould,  Mademoiselle  Sophie, 

458,  465 
Arouet,  Fran9ois  Marie,  127 
Artois,  Comte  d',  receives  Marie 
Antoinette,  506,  508;  marries 
a  princess  of  Savoy,  515;    at 
the  court  of  Marie  Antoinette, 

517,  525 
Artois,  Comtessed',  519 
Aufresne,  499 
Augfustus  of  Poland,  235 
Augustus  of  Saxony,  235,  302 
Ayen,  Ducd',  434 

Bachaumont,  Petit  de,  492 
Baden,  Princess  of,  225 
Bals  de  I'Op^ra,  47 
Balzac,  Jean  Louis,  317 
Banque  du  Roi,  84,  89,  122 
Barbier,  149,  274 


S34 


jndmx. 


Bardes,  M.,  473 

Baron,  Michel,  31;  retires  from 

^  the  stage,  57;  returns  to  the 
stage,  60;  plays  Britannicus, 
177;  his  farewell,  196;  his 
burial,  200 

Barry,    Count    Guillaume    du, 

517 
Barry,  Madame  du,  Madame  de 
Grammont's     opposition    to, 
502;    her    presentation,    503; 
her  care  of  the  wounded,  510; 
Marie  Antoinette's  relations 
with,  516;  her  marriage,  517; 
her  superstition,  518;  her  re- 
tirement, 521;  her  return,  525; 
visits  Voltaire,  529,  531 
Barth61emy,  Abb6,  416,  467 
Bastille,  16,  26 
Bavi^re,  Princess  Charlotte  de, 

24 
Beaujolais,  Mademoiselle,  162 
Beaumarchais,  379  note,  525 
Beaumont,  Christophe  de,  290, 

390,  448 
Beaumont,    Madame    Leprince 

de,  465 
Beauvais,  M.  de,  518 
Beauvau,  Prince  de,  528 
B6chamel,  Vicomte  de,  80,  100 
Belcourt,  390,  392,  398 
Bellegarde,  M.  de  Lalive,  468 
Belle-Isle,    Mar6chal    de,    256, 

341 
Belmond,  Mademoiselle,  63 
Bembourg,  56,  63 
Benedict  XIV.,  243,  390,  407 
Bernard,  Samuel,  34,  120,  212 
Bernis,  de,  Abb6  and  Cardinal, 
accompanies    the   king,    337; 
with  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
344,    410;    his    advancement, 
412;  his  poetry,  416;  member 
of  the  academy,  417;  in  the 
king's  good  graces,  420;  loses 
the  king's  favor,  426;  recom- 
mends  Clermont,    453;    pro- 
poses making  peace,  456;  vis- 
its Rome,  517 
Berri,  Due  de,  408,  483,  498 


Berri,  Duchesse  de,  47,  106 

Berryer,  M.,  152,  337,  368  note, 
431 

Berwick,   Marshal,  237 

Bezenval,  255,  420,  499,  520,  524 

Biancotelli,  52 

Bibliotheque  Nationale,  31 

Black,  Miss,  226 

Blois,  Mademoiselle  de,  24 

Bocage,  Madame  du,  441 

Bolingbroke,  Countess  of,  226 

Bordeaux,  Wine  of,  358 

Bossuet,  31,  113  note,  492 

Boucher,  his  painting,  206,  213, 
366;  his  model,  368  note; 
paints  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour, 373;  481,  491;  his  death, 
49 1  note 

Boufflers,  Chevalier  de,  465 

Boufflers,  Duchesse  de,  179,199, 
416 

Boufflers,  Marquise  de,  291 

Bouillon,  Duchesse  de,  198 

Boulogne,  496 

Bourbon,  Due  de,  his  character, 
14;  hatred  of  the  Due  du 
Maine,  92;  becomes  first  min- 
ister, 145;  sends  back  the  in- 
fanta, 160;  in  favor  with  the 
queen,  171;  opposes  Fleury, 
175;  his  arrest,  178;  506 

Bourbon-Cond6,  Due  de,  90,  116 

Bourdaloue,  31,    109 

Bourgogne,  Due  de,  108,  361,483 

Bourgogne,  Duchesse  de,  310 

Boyer,  Bishop,  243 

Boyron,  64 

Broglie,  Comte  de,  420 

Broglie,  Mar^chal  de,  420,  425 

Buffon,  M.  de,  490 

Bulle  Unigenitus,  The,  accepted 
by  the  French  clergy.  113;  211; 
"tickets  of  confession,"  290; 
rejected  by  Parliament,  390; 
as  lively  as  ever,  407 

Bungener,  M.,  criticism  on  Mas- 
sillon,  109;  on  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  271;  sinecures, 
413;  on  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour, 482 


INDEX. 


535 


Burgundy,  Duchess  of,  9 
Buzard,  530 
Byng,  Admiral,  423 

Calendrini,  Madame,  226 

CaMot,  321  note 

Camargo,  205 

Cambrai,  Archbishop  of,  71, 
104.  116 

Capefigue,  344 

Carignan,  Madame  de,  973 

Carlos,  Don,  162 

Cartouche,  174 

Catherine  of  Russia,  her  dress, 
95;  her  first  court  reunion, 
97;  her  dissolute  court,  511; 
places  Stanislaus  on  the 
throne,  512;  invites  Madame 
Geoff rin,  513 

Caylus,  Madame  de,  receives  a 
relic,  6;  her  suppers,  50;  the 
Czar's  admiration,  "a  rather 
lively  grace,"  98;  298 

Cellamare,  Prince  de,  70 

Chabanon,  440 

Chambord,  Comte  de,  427 

Chambord,  Comtesse  de,  427 

Champmesl6,  Madame,  31 

Chardin,  367 

Charles  Albert  of  Bavi6re,  246 

Charles  Edward,  Prince,  joins 
the  French,  249;  Culloden, 
289;  escapes  from  Scotland, 
300;  a  favorite  in  France,  303, 
304;  ordered  to  leave,  304 

Charles  VIII.,  161,169 

Charles  X.,  506 

Charolais,  Mademoiselle  de,  73, 

77 
Charost,  Due  de,  139,  142,  178 
Charost,  Duchessede,  187 
Chartres,  Due  de,  24,  146,  255 
Chass6,  202 

Chateauroux,  Duchesse  de,  ' '  a 
duchess  for  virtue  and  merit," 
252;  her  death,  257;  260;  her 
jealousy,  261;  her  ghost,  265; 
267;  her  example  followed, 
276,  278;  294;  demands  d'Ar- 
genson's  dismissal,  342;  422 


Chatelet,  Madame  du,  Voltaire's 
lines  to,  125;  at  Cirey,  242;  at 
Lun^ville,  291;  with  Madame 
de  Pompadour, 298;  her  death, 
308;  her  character,  320;  her 
house,  324;  350;  condolences 
on  her  death,  380 

Ch&telet,  Marquis  du,  242 

Chenevi^res,  M.  de,  272 

Chesterfield,  Lord,  358 

Choiseul,  M.  de,  expels  the 
Jesuits,  376;  382;  his  opinion 
of  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
385:  minister,  448,  451,  457, 
472;  the  Treaty  of  Paris,  477 ; 
pensions  Mademoiselle  Lespi- 
nasse,  488 ;  his  character,  497, 
499;  unmasks  Madame  d'Es- 
parb^s,  500;  501,  504;  in  dis- 
grace, 516;  517,  526 

Choiseul,  Madame  de,  416,  457 

Choisy,  234 

Clairon,  Mademoiselle,  her  di- 
but,  244;  plays  "Cleopatra," 
272;  borrowed  plumes,  393; 
reforms  stage  dress,  398;  the 
grande  r^&ence,  399;  be- 
friends Marmontel,  400,  436; 
444,  450;  teaches  Sophie  Ar- 
nould,  459;  the  grande  r^/r- 
enee,  489;  visits  Voltaire,  528 

Clement,  Pope,  113  note,  448 

Clermont,  M.  de,  Abb6  de  St. 
Germain-aux-Pr6s,  453,  455 

Clermont,  Bishop  of,  187 

Clermont-Tonnerre,  M.  de,  394 

Clotilde,  Madame,  515 

Cochin,  365 

Coigny,  M.  de,  228 

Coligni,  190 

C0II6,  200 

Collin,  380 

Colson,  Gilles,  393 

Com6die  Fran9aise,  2or 

Compagnie  de  Commerce  d'Oc- 
cident,  84 

Compra,  203 

Conti,  Prince  de,  64,  474 

Conti,  Princesse  de,  262,  265, 
416 


53^ 


INDEX. 


Cooks,  33 

Corneille,  31,  196,  201 

Cosse-Brissac,  Due  de,  505,  526 

Cr^billon,  his  character,  127; 
201;  condemns  "  Mahomet," 
243;  272,  350;  his  character, 
386 

Crequy,  Madame  de,  239,  242, 

325 
Cumberland,  Duke  of,  279,  429, 

431 
Custrin,  338 

Dacier,  Madame,  34,  242 
Damiens,  Frangois,  attacks  the 
king,  434;    his   letter   to   the 
king,  436;  his  execution,  437; 

444 

D'Aubign6,   190  note 

Daucour,  204 

Daucour,  Mademoiselle,  212 

Dauphin,  The.his  birth,  195 ;  248 ; 
goes  to  Metz,  256;  displeases 
the  king,  260;  his  baptism  of 
fire,  277;  280,  290;  his  mar- 
riage, 301;  has  small-pox, 
373;  387;  kills  the  Comte  de 
Chambord,  426;  434,  435,436, 
444;  reads'/'De  TEsprit,"  445, 
446,  448;  452;  defends  the  Jes- 
uits, 458;  denounces  "Emile," 
472;  his  death,  493 

Dauphin,  The,  {Due  de  Bern), 
his  marriage,  498,  508 

Dauv^rgne,  460 

Dazincourt,  524 

De  Crome,  152 

Deffant,  Marquis  du,  185 

Deffant,  Madame  du,  her  ennui, 
127;  accompanies  Madame 
de  Prie,  179;  her  cynicism, 
183;  Voltaire's  admiration  for, 
192;  209;  her  opinion  of  Re- 
nault, 219;  298;  her  animals, 
309;  at  Ste.  Genevieve's  well, 
317;  a  friend  of  Fontenelle, 
332;  her  egotism,  443;  her 
jealousy,  488;  a  sermon  in 
her  salon,  491 ;  her  "  dread  of 
eternity,"  529 


Delaunay,  Mademoiselle,  7 1 

Denis,  Madame,  389,  527,  530 

De  Sacy,  P6re,  374 

Desmarets,  Father,  435 

Desmarets,  Nicholas,  84 

Despreaux,  M.,  149,  463 

Destouches,  125,  203,  210 

De  Tocqueville,  12,  135,  235; 
his  opinion  of  Fleury,  247; 
452 

Deux-Ponts,  Due  de,  526 

Diacre-Paris,  The,  211 

Diderot,  his  character,  214;  241; 
witnesses  Clairon's  dSut,  245 ; 
"L'Esprit,"  334;  an  "  Econo- 
mist," 345;  his  arrest,  347; 
his  opinion  of  Rousseau,  353; 
his  judgment  of  Greuze,  366 ; 
441;  his  writings,  447;  his 
house  searched,  471;  his  rela- 
tions with  Mademoiselle  Les- 
pinasse,  487;  contrasted  with 
Buffon,  491;  his  opinion  of 
M.  Thomas,  494;  a  friend  of 
Stanislaus,  512 

Dorneval,  55 

Dragonnades,  31 

Dubois,  Abb6,  his  cynicism,  5; 
tutor  to  the  Due  d'Orleans, 
24;  his  hatred  of  du  Maine, 
40;  relations  with  Madame  de 
Tencin,  71;  Mehemet's  opin- 
ion of,  104;  advocates  the 
Bulle,  114;  made  Cardinal 
Archbishop,  116;  120;  sus- 
pected of  poisoning  the  king, 
133;  appointed  minister,  140; 
his  death,  141;  his  administra- 
tion, 179 

Duclos,  his  opinion  of  the  re- 
gent, 23,  26;  of  the  Comte  de 
Riom.  50;  of  Richelieu,  78; 
of  the  Systeme  Law,  91;  of 
Paris,  149;  of  "  Le  Devin  du 
Village."  351;  412,  417;  a 
Pythagorean,  475 

Duclos,  Mademoiselle,  58,  63, 
180 

Dufresny,  149 

Du  Guesclin,  M.,  282 


INDEX. 


537 


Dumesnil,  243 

Dumesnil,  Madame,  399,  400 

Dupin,  M.,  239 

Dupin,  Madame,  239,  309,  350 

Du  Plessis-Momay,  190  note 

Duras,  209 

ifecOLE  MiLITAIRK,  362 

Economists,  344 
Egmont,  Comtesse  d',  399 
Elis6e.  P6re,  496 
Elizabeth,  Madame,  515 
Elizabeth  of  Russia,  411 
Elys6e  Bourbon,  345,  484 
Embrun,  Archbishop  d',  120 
ipernon,  d',  228,  230 
Epinay,  Madame  d',  her  "tame 
bear,"  467;    her    ami  intime 
and    C horn  me    sauvage,    468, 
469,  470,  471 
Esparb^s.  Madame  d',  499 
Espinasse,  Mademoiselle  de  1*. 

See  Lespinasse 
Estr^es,  Mar6chal  Comte  d*, 
brings  news  of  Fontenoy,  279; 
commands  the  army,  424; 
superseded,  428;  "the  Resem- 
blance and  the  Difference," 
,  42Q 

Etioles,  Alexandrine  d',  381 
£tioles,  Madame  le  Normand  d', 
at  Lille,  255;  is  presented  at 
court,  261;  her  early  life,  271; 
her  marriage,  415.  See  Poisson, 
Jeanne  Antoinette,  and  Pom- 
padour.  La  Marquise  de. 
Etioles,  M.  le  Normand  d', 
his  indignation,  264;  at  the 
theatre,  272;  375;  returns  to 
France,    376 ;    his    marriage, 

,415 
Evreux,  Comte  d',  345 

Falari,  Duchesse  de,  143 
Favart,  Mademoiselle,  292 
Fell,  459 

F^nelon,  22,  T09,  283 
F6n61on,  Marquis  de,  283 
Ferriol,  Comte  de,  224 
Ferriol,  Madame  de,  224 


Fert6-Irabault,    Marquis  de  la, 

3" 
Filleul,  Mademoiselle,  489 
Fitz-James,     Bishop     of     Sois- 

sons,  255 
Flavacourt,    Madame    de,    250, 

294,  3:2,  428 
F16chier,  31 

Fleury,  Andr6,  Bishop  and 
Cardinal,  51;  the  king's  pre- 
ceptor, 106,  III;  refuses  an 
archbishopric,  115;  116;  un 
abb/  /Ugant,  139;  146,  161; 
leaves  Versailles,  175;  is  re- 
called, 178;  his  administra- 
tion, 179;  his  economy,  182; 
the  "  Henriade,"  190;  gives 
Voltaire  a  pension,  192;  the 
resurrection  of  the  Bulle,  211; 
his  character,  220;  his  career, 
227;  resigns,  231;  approves 
Madame  de  Mailly,  233;  re- 
verses Cr6billon's  judgment, 
243;  his  death,  246;  253;  his 
economy,  259;  266;  his  moral- 
ity, 269;  272;  commerce  un- 
der his  administration,  274; 
dreads  war,  285;  298;  the 
navy,  341 
Fleury,     Claude,    Abb6,     108, 

113,  116 
Fleury,   Marquis  de,  246 
Fontenailles,   Marquise  de,  483 
Fontenelle,    34,    122,     125;   his 
character,  128;  his  selfishness, 
314.  315;  332;  his  death,  441, 
442 
Fontenoy,  battle  cf,  279,  335 
Forcalquier,  Madame  de,  309 
Fragonard,  Jean  Honor6,  366 
Francine,  43,  203 
Francis  I,  of  Lorraine,  324 
Franklin,  Benjamin,  529 
Frederick      of      Prussia,     253; 
possessor     of    Voltaire,   388; 
411;  Grimm's  correspondence 
with,    468;    condition    of    his 
kingdom,  479 
Fr6jus,    Bishop     of,    106,    116, 
142 


53ft 


INDEX, 


Fr6jus,   M.  de,  51.   See  Fleury, 

Andri. 
Freron,  444 
Fresme,  Due  de,  17 
Frise,  Comte  de,  349 
Fronde,  The,  21 
Fronsac,  Due  de,  9,  381 
Fuzelier,  55 

Galland,  M.,  66  note 

Gallissonniere,  Admiral  de  la, 
422 

Gaussin,  200 

Genlis,  Madame  de,  500 

Geoffrin,  Madame,  her  salon, 
308,  319,  385;  displeased  with 
Marmontel,  400;  443;  her  din- 
ners, 486,  487;  her  travels, 
512;  her  death,  529 

Geoffrin,  M.,  310 

George  III.,  477 

Gevres,  Duede,  eourt  page,  112; 
conspiracy  against  Fleury, 
228;  his  embroidery,  229;  250, 

384 

Girardin,  M.  de,  531 

Gobelins,  Manufacture  de  glaces 
des,  310 

Goldoni,  404 

Gontaut,  Madame  de,  232 

Gotha,  Due  de,  468 

Graffigny,  Count  Huguetde,32i 

Graffigny,  Madame  de,  **  Lettres 
d'une  P6ruvienne,"  298;  309; 
her  history,  321;  visit  to  Vol- 
taire, 324;  opinion  of  "  L'Es- 

prit,"334 

Grammont,  Due  de,  281 

Grammont,  Duchesse  de,  her 
attentions  to  the  king,  499, 
500,  501;  opposition  to  Ma- 
dame du  Barry,  502,  503,  505 

Grandval,  201,  396 

Gresset,  M.,  438 

Greuze,  366 

Griffet,  P6re,  294 

Grimm,  Baron,  125,  241;  wit- 
nesses Clairon's  d^but,  245; 
349,  384;  as  a  news-gatherer, 
468,  471,  494 


Guay,  484,  485 

Guibert,  M.  de,  492 

Guimard,    Mademoiselle,    461, 

524 
Guise,    Mademoiselle   de,    216, 

321 
Gustave  III.,  526 

Haid^e,  98,  125 

Haro,  Don,  118 

Helvetius,  209;  warned  by  Ma- 
dame de  Tencin,  217;  his 
marriage,  328,  329;  345,  349, 
350,  359;  "  De  L'Esprit,"  445, 
447 

Helvetius,  Madame,  330 

H6nault,  keeper  of  the  queen's 
purse,  218;  294,  313,  358;  his 
death,  441 

Henri  III.,  523 

Henri  IV.,  284,  523 

Henriette  d'Anglet^rre,  496 

Herault,  70,  152,  160 

Holbaeh,  Baron  d',  his  charac- 
ter, 328;  349,  350,  358 

Homer,  35 

Hospice  Pompadour,  L',  335 

Hotel  des  Invalides,  L',  363 

Houdetot,  Comtesse  d',  469 

Hume,  475 

Infanta,  The,  Maria  AnnaVic- 

toria,  112,  118,  160 
Innocent  III.,  115 

Joseph  II.,  526 

Kaunitz,    Count  Venceslaus 

DE,  382,  410,  498 
Konigsmark,  Aurora  von,  276 

Laborde,  204 

La  Fayette,, Madame  de,  123 

La  Fresnaye,  M.,  188 

La  Gallissonniere,  Admiral  de, 

422 
La  Harpe,  440,  488,  528 
Lally-Tollendal,  531 
Lamartiniere,  Doctor,  435 
Lamballe,  Duchesse  de,  498 


INDE)C. 


539 


Lambert,  Hotel  de,  30,  243 

Lambert,  Madame  de,  her  salon, 
30,  32;  34;  her  sahtty  65,  no, 
122;  Fontenelle  dines  with, 
128;  186;  her  death,  220,  316 

Lambert,  Marquis  de,  31 

Lamothe-Houdancourt,  187 

La  Motte,  de,  59;  explains  to 
Fontenelle,  129;  196;  refuses 
de  Bernis  a  benefice,  415 

La  Motte-Houdart,  35,  65 

La  Muette,  106 

Lancret,  205 

La  Noue,  190  ncU 

LaQuinault,  210 

La  Reynie,  152 

Largilli^re,  213 

Lauraguais,  Comle  de,  460 

Lauraguais,  Madame  de,  255; 
Richelieu's  intrigue  with,  422, 
428;  460 

Lauzun,  Due  de,  49 

La  Vrillidre,  Due  de,  521 

Law,  John,  46,  80,  121 

Law,  Madame,  80 

Le  Bas,  365 

Le  Blanc,  338 

Le  Brun,  Madame  Vig6e,  504 

Le  Couvreur,  Adrienne,  her  d/- 
^**t,  56,  59;  her  popularity, 
65,  102;  186,  193,  196;  her 
death,  198;  400 

Lekain,  his  d/but,  390,  394:406; 
visits  Voltaire,  441;  reforms 
stage  costume,  444 ;  his  death, 
528 

Lemaure,  186,  202 

Lemoine,  206 

Le  Noir,  152 

Leonard,  524 

Leprince,  465  note 

Le  Sage,  55,  57 

Lesdiguidres  Hotel,  30,  95,  212 

Lespinasse,  Mademoiselle  de, 
486,  529 

Les  Quinault,  200 

Levasseur,  Th6r6se,  350;  her 
anger  with  Rousseau,  351, 
352;  her  jealousy,  469;  471; 
her  marriage,  475 


Ligneville,    Mademoiselle    de, 

329.  334 
Livry-Sanguin,  Abb6,  i6l 
Locke,  494 

Lorraine.  Due  de,  216,  321 
Lorraine,  Duchesse  de,  48 
Louis  XUL,  107,  321  note,  50S 
Louis  XIV.,  his  death,  i;  his 
character,  7,  10,  22 ;  his 
daughter's  marriage,  24;  29, 
40;  mourning  for,  47;  69;  his 
dislike  of  Madame  de  Caylus, 
98;  107,  109;  trouble  with  the 
Bulle  Unigenitus,  113  note, 
114;  118,  134;  appoints  d'Ar- 
genson,  152;  154.  155.  163, 
172,  246;  accompanied  by 
"three queens," 253.  284:297; 
manners  of  his  court,  298; 
363,  376;  destroys  works  of 
art.  433;  444.  477,  508 
Louis  XV.,  his  first  lit-de-Jus- 
tice,  17;  Mehemet's  visit  to, 
104;  in  church,  in;  his  mar- 
riage, 116;  his  illness,  132; 
his  coronation,  141;  appoints 
the  Due  de  Bourbon  first 
minister.  146;  his  taste  for 
scandal,  154;  sends  back  the 
Infanta,  160;  his  marriage, 
171;  in  the  council  chamber, 
175;  his  seclusion,  182;  goes 
in  state  to  Paris,  194;  his 
"extraordinary  virtue,"  228; 
mourns  for  Madame  de  Vinti- 
mille,  237;  regrets  Fleury's 
death,  248;  Madame  de  la 
Tournelle's  influence  over, 
250;  259 ;  meets  Madame 
d'^tioles,  261;  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour, 267,  276;  at  Fontenoy, 
280,  283;  flattered,  287;  values 
Mouthier,  296  ;  banishes 
Charles  Edward,  304,  305 ;  his 
illness,  331;  L'Hospice  Pom- 
padour, 335;  "getting sallow," 
342;  is  pleased  with  Rous- 
seau's music,  351;  makes  ac- 
quaintance   with    Bordeaux, 


S4d 


INDEX. 


358;  has  a  generous  fit,  362; 
The  Ecole  Militaire,  364;  ad- 
mires Boucher's  "  Virgin," 
368  note;  369;  presents  Ma- 
dame de  Pompadour  with 
horses,  371;  dislikes  the  dau- 
phin, 374;  devoted  to  the 
chase,  383;  384;  pensions  Cr6- 
billon,  387,  389;  commands 
Lekain's  reception,  397;  his 
musical  opinions,  404;  the 
Pope's  opinion  of,  407;  his 
melancholy,  408;  410;  his 
opinion  of  de  Bernis,  417; 
consoles  Marmontel,  419; 
freezes  de  Broglie,  421;  his 
"harshness"  to  Richelieu, 
423 ;  his  dislike  of  the  dauphin, 
426;  "After  us  the  deluge," 
429;  his  economy,  432;  his 
attempted  assassination,  433; 
439;  becomes  timid,  444;  puts 
Tercier  under  arrest,  446;  447; 
refuses  to  banish  the  Encyclo- 
paedists, 448;  458;  hesitates  to 
expel  the  Jesuits,  472,  478; 
dependence  on  Madame  de 
Pompadour,  479,  4821486;  his 
grief  for  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour, 490;  his  dislike  to  the 
dauphin,  493,  494;  496;  his 
marriage,  498;  his  coldness 
to  Madame  de  Grammont, 
500;  Madame  du  Barry,  502; 
receives  Marie  Antoinette, 
506,  507;  his  daughters,  515; 
516;  contemplates  marrying 
Madame  du  Barry,  517;  his 
death,  518;  the  old  regime 
buried  with  him,  522 

Louis  XVI.,  505;  his  marriage, 
508;  his  coronation,  523;  his 
fate,  532 

Louis  XVII.L,  506 

Louis,  Prince  of  the  Asturias, 
112 

Louise  Marie,  514 

Lulli,  privileges  granted  to,  43; 
202,  203;  versus  Rameau, 
204;  402 


Lussac,  Marquis  de,  500 
Luxembourg,  Due  de,  179,  471 
Luxembourg,  Madame  de,  428, 

471 
Luxembourg  Palace,  49 
Luynes,  Cardinal  de,  294 
Luynes,  Due  de,  294 
Luynes,  Duchesse  de,  294,  374 

Machault,    M.,  333,  336  note, 

437 
Madame  Royale,  483 
Maillebois,  425,  426,  428 
Mailly,  Comtesse  de,  233,  237 
Maine,  Due  du,  superseded,  14; 
22,  39;  his  sluggishness,   70; 
hated  by  the  regent,  92;  118, 
145;  his  death,  246 
Maine,  Duchesse  du,  her  salon, 
38;  her  intrigues,  6g;  112,  118, 
180,  218;  masquerading,  316; 
a  partisan  of  Lekain,  391 
Maintenon,    Madame   de,    sug- 
gests a  Council  of  Regency,  i; 
leaves  Versailles,  6;  her  influ- 
ence, 21 ;  47 :  letter  to  Madame 
de  Caylus,  50;  52;  Richelieu 
her   favorite,    78;   her  death, 
92;  99,  loi,  107,  297,  306,  377, 
424,  502. 
Mairan,  128 

Malesherbes,  M,  de,  345,  471 
Mancini,  Marquis  de,  31 
Marchais,  M.  de,  414 
Marchault,  362 

Marche-Courmont,  M.  dela,  327 
Margrave  of  Bareith,  327 
Maria  Theresa  of  Austria,  246, 
382;  her  love  of  scandal,  384; 
411,  457,  479;   sacrifices   her 
daughters,  499;  welcomes  Ma- 
dame Geoffrin,  513;  instructs 
Marie  Antoinette,  516 
Maria  Theresa  of  Spain,  118;  her 

marriage;  261;  376,  508 
Marie  Antoinette,  her  birth  and 
education,  498;  her  reception, 
506;  a  foreshadowing  of  her 
career,  511;  as  a  child,  513, 
514;  her  associates,  515;  ques- 


INDEX. 


541 


tions  Madame  de  Noailles, 
516;  her  intrigues,  523;  visits 
Rousseau's  tomb,  531;  her 
fate,  532 

Marie  Leczinska,  her  marriage, 
166;  sets  the  fashions,  171; 
goes  in  state  to  Paris,  194;  her 
jealousy,  232;  receives  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tournelle,  251; 
252;  goes  to  Metz,  256;  re- 
ceives Madame  d'^tioles,  265; 
frightened  by  the  Jesuits,  290; 
"Ora  pro  nobis,"  294;  her 
daughter  -  in  -  law.  302;  her 
physician,  331,  332;  351;  the 
king  is  gracious,  361;  the 
king  in  the  queen's  oratory, 
368;  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour's revenge,  377;  her  ter- 
ror of  Voltaire,  387;  435; 
prays  the  king  not  to  set  a  bad 
example,  444;  her  alarm  at 
•M'Esprit,"  446;  loses  her  fa- 
ther, 495;  her  death,  496;  506. 
515 

Marigny,  de,  "a  fish  by  birth," 
339;  his  private  circle,  344, 
345;  his  reserve,  352;  origi- 
nates the  Ecole  Militaire, 
363;  a  patron  of  artists,  369; 
a  cordon  bleu,  380;  382,  420; 
inherits  Madame  de  Pompa- 
dour's property,  484;  his  mar- 
"|ge.  489 

Mann,  100,  255,  453,  461 

Marivaux,  126,  333 

Marmontel,  241;  Madame  de 
Pompadour's/rtj/^^/,  272;  297, 
314,  350,  353;  has  the  air  of 
a  marquise,  381;  Clairon's 
slave,  399;  415;  his  compli- 
mentary ode,  417;  his  sudden 
popularity,  418 ;  writing  a 
tragedy,  436;  440;  "  a  strange 
man,"  450;  praises  Sophie 
Arnould,  459;  465;  only  a 
bourgeois,    489;  512 

Martin,  371 

Massillon,  io8,  188 

Maurepas,   Comte   de,    compli- 


ments Louis,  230;  250;  sent 
to  recall  Madame  de  Chat- 
eauroux,  257;  apologizes  to 
Charles  Edward,  305;  attacks 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  340; 
recalled,  524;  his  opinion  of 
Madame  du  Barry,  525 

Maury,  492 

Maximilian,  160 

Mazarin,  Cardinal,  118,  155, 
221;  his  epitaph,  227;  247 

Mazarin,  Duchesse  de,  250 

Mazarin,  Palais,  31 

Mehemet  Effendi,  104 

Mercier,  149,  275 

Mesdames,  recommend  the 
Duchesse  de  Lamballe,  498; 
receive  Madame  du  Barry, 
503;  their  character,  514;  hor- 
rified at  Marie  Antoinette, 
517;  take  the  small-pox,  519; 
524 

Mirabeau,  Chevalier  de,  455 

Mirabeau,  Marquis  de,  149,  209, 

345 

Mirepoix,  Duchesse  de,  503,  504 

Mitayer,  45 

Modena,  Due  de,  76 

Moli6re,  31,  201 

Moncrif,  172,  303 

Montaigu,  M.  de,  241 

Montausier,  Duchesse  de,  31 

Mont6clair,  203 

Montespan,  Madame  de,  250, 
252,  284,  376 

Montesquieu,  his  "  Lettres  Per- 
sanes,"  68;  83,  122;  he  was 
not  asleep,  124;  125  note,  128, 
149;  his  "  Esprit  des  Lois," 
189;  191,  332,  357;  his  death, 
4411457 

Montpensier,  Mademoiselle  de, 
49,  118 

Moore,  Doctor,  10 

Mouthier,  296,  461 

Munich,  General,  235 

Murane,  202 

Nanthia,  Vicomte  de,  226 
Napoleon  Buonaparte,  498 


542 


INDEX. 


Natoire,  213 

Necker,  Madame,  529 

Nehon,  Lucas  de,  311  note 

Nesle,  Mademoiselle  de,  233 

Nesle,  Marquis  de,  95,  233 

Nev^rs,  Due  de,  32 

Nevers,  Hotel,  31 

Nicolet,  205 

Nivernois,  Due  de,  477,  478 

Noailles,  Cardinal  de,  18,  120 

Noailles,  Due  de,  47,  118 

Noailles,   Madame  de,  50,  345, 

371,  516,  517 
Noailles,  Mademoiselle  de,  323 

Op^ra  Bouffe,  404 

Op^ra  Comique,  53 

Opera,  The,  202 

Orleans,  Louis,  Due  d',  225,  255, 

425 
Orleans,  Philippe,  Due  d',  4;  his 
promises,  13,  15;  his  rou/s,  22; 
his  marriage,  24;  his  mother, 
25;  at  the  da/s  de  VOp&a,  47; 
70;  his   daughter's   marriage, 
77;  at  his  wits'    end,  84;  86; 
buys  a  diamond,  88;  enriches 
Law,    89;    his  hatred   of   the 
Due  du  Maine,  92;   arranges 
the  king's  marriage,   116;  ap- 
points Dubois  minister,    140; 
142;  his  health,  143;  his  death, 
144;  his  collections,  155 
Orleans,  Duchesse  d',  24 
Orme,  Marion  de  1',  120 
Orry,  M.  Philibert  d',  336 

Palais  Royal  Gardens,  155 

Panard,  341,  354 

Parabere,  Mad.  de,  98;  her  pre- 
sents to  Louis,  134 ;  185,  224 

Paris,  44 

Paris,  Archbishop  of,  refuses 
to  accept  the  Bulle,  114;  or- 
ders prayers  for  an  heir  to  the 
throne,  194;  closes  the  Ab- 
baye  doors,  372;  the  Bulle 
again,  390;  in  exile,  408;  508; 
asks  the  king  to  banish  Vol- 
taire, 528 


Paris,  Brothers,  91,  362 

Paris-Duvernay,  165,  175;  in 
the  Bastille,  179;  181,  268, 
3^44;  promises  funds  for  the 
Ecole  Militaire,  364 

Paris,  Growth  of,  145,  275 

Paris,  Treaty  of,  477 

Parma,  Duke  of,  483 

Parrocel,  Charles,  337 

Parrocel,  Joseph,  337 

Pelligem,  204 

Pellissier,  Madame,  186,  202 

Penthievre,Ducde,  165;  "  Notre 
Toulouse,"  184;  goes  to  the 
wars,  246;  at  Fontenoy,  280; 
498 

Pergolese,  390,  402,  404 

Perigord,  Abbe  de,  529 

Persan,  Madame  Doublet  de, 
492 

Peter  the  Great,  93,  102 

Petit  Luxembourg,  37 

Petrini,  404 

Phelippeaux,  Jean,  341 

Philip  v.,  his  fits  of  despond- 
ency, 70;  his  bigotry,  112 ; 
his  conditions,  113;  117;  his 
reception  of  the  Abbe  de 
Livry-Sanguin,  161 

Picot,  369 

Piedmont,  Prince  de,  515 

Pilon,  180 

Piron,  55,  127,  204;  his  satire, 
292;  341,  381,  386;  grown  de- 
vout, 495 

PI6I0,  Comte  Br^hant  de,  236 

Poisson,  Abel  Fran5ois,  338 

Poisson,  Jeanne  Antoinette, 
268,  415.  See  £tioles,  Ma- 
dame le  Normand  d\  and 
Pompadour,  La  Marquise  de. 

Poisson,  Madame,  414 

Police,  151 

Pompadour,  La  Marquise  de, 
receives  her  title,  266;  her 
character,  267;  "the  king's 
little  wife,"  268;  persuades  the 
king  to  join  the  army,  276;  at 
Fontenoy,  278;  forms  a  theat- 
rical company,  288;  with  the 


INDEX. 


543 


Pompadour,  La  Marquise  de 
{continued.^ 

Mar6chal  de  Saxe  at  the  op- 
era, 292;  at  supper,  296;  de- 
sires peace,  304;  amuses  the 
king,  305;  founds  a  hospital, 
335;  fears  for  his  majesty's 
complexion,  342;  347,  350, 
351;  receives  Rousseau,  354; 
her  benevolence,  362;  The 
I^cole  Militaire,  363,  364:  368 
note;  her  equipages,  371;  her 
portrait,  373;  her  elevation  to 
the  honor  of  the  tabouret,  374; 
383,  384;  her  correspondence 
with  Maria  Theresa,  385;  re- 
ceives Cr6billon,  387;  exiles 
the  archbishop,  390;  at  the 
opera,  404;  407;  loses  her  gay- 
ety,  408;  410;  advances  de 
Bernis,  413;  receives  de 
Bernis,  415;  encourages  Mar- 
montel,  418;  420;  out  of 
health,  422;  promotes  D'Es- 
tr6es,  424;  428;  urges  econo- 
my, 432;  recommended  to 
retire,  436;  her  friendship  for 
Voltaire,  440;  her  task  more 
arduous,  444;  her  advice,  448; 
lectureu  by  Marmontel,  450; 
her  grief  for  Soubise,  453;  re- 
jects the  idea  of  peace,  456; 
457;  receives  Sophie  Arnould, 
459;  472,  476;  indignant  at 
the  Treaty  of  Paris,  477;  her 
labors,  479;  her  death,  484; 
opinions  concerning  her,  489; 
her  apartments  still  closed, 
497;  opened  again,  501;  502, 
503;  on  friendly  terms  with 
Madame  Adelaide,  515,  521 

Pomprona,  Abb6  de,  222 

Poniatowski,  Stanislaus,  512 

Pont-de-Veyle,  Le  Marquis  de, 
122,  209;  219,  225;  at  Ste, 
Genevieve's    well,    318;  492 

Poplini^re,  Madame  de  la,  204, 
217 

Poplinidre,  M.  de  la,  212,  239 

Pradon,  197,  20I 


Pr6guey,  Abb6  Matherot  de,  148 

Pretender,  The  Young,  leaves 
Rome,  249;  in  Scotland,  289: 
escapes  from  Scotland,  300; 
enters  Paris,  303;  ordered  to 
leave,  304 

Pr6ville,  393 

Pr6vost,  Abb6,  465 

Prie,  Madame  de,  wishes  to 
govern  France,  146,  160;  in 
favor  with  the  queen,  171;  **  I 
make  sunshine,"  174;  ban- 
ished, 178;  dies,  180;  185,  187, 
506 

Provence,  Comte  de,  receives 
Marie  Antoinette,  506;  his 
marriage,  515;  at  the  dau- 
phin's court,  517;  532 

Provence,  Comtesse  de,  525 

Puisieux,  Marquis  de,  304 

QuESNAY,    Le   Docteur,   344, 

450.  483 
Quesnel,  Le  P6re,  113  note 
Quinault,  Mademoiselle,  244 
Quirini,  Cardinal,  167 

Rachel,  Madame,  399 
Racine,   31;    his   servility,    68; 

196,  201 
Raesfeld,  M.  von,  389 
Ragonneau,  476 
Rambaud,  335 
Rambouillet,  Chateau  de,  118, 

316 
Rambouillet.  Forest  of,  173 
Rambouillet,  Hotel  de,  37,  316, 

491 
Rambouillet,  Marquise  de,  29,  31 
Rameau,    his   early  difl5cultics, 

203;  appointed  organist,  213; 

239,  390,  402;  his  opinion  of 

French  music,  404;  458 
Ramponeau,  525 
Raphael,  369 
Reaumer,  238 
Regent,     The.       See      Orleans, 

Philippe,  Due  (T. 
Regent,  The  {diamond),  88,  195 
Rembrandt,  367 


544: 


INDEX. 


Riccoboni  Louis,  53 

Riccoboni,  Madame,  53,  465 

Richelieu,  Due  de,  confined  in 
the  Bastille,  9;  seeking  inter- 
views with  Satan,  24;  in  the 
Bastille  for  the  third  time,  72; 
his  conquests,  73;  released 
from  prison,  77;  attends  the 
wedding  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Valois,  77;  member  of  the 
Academy,  78;  a  mal-apropos 
question,  no;  112,  120;  pre- 
sents the  "  Henriade,"  igo; 
191;  ambassador  to  Vienna, 
192;  his  intrigue  with  Madame 
de  la  Popliniere,  215;  his  sec- 
ond marriage,  216;  221;  op- 
poses Fleury,  228;  247; 
"showing  attention"  to  the 
Pretender,  249;  presents  Ma- 
dame de  la  Tournelle  to  the 
king,  250;  253;  affects  to  dis- 
believe the  king's  danger,  255; 
274;  at  Fontenoy,  280;  291, 
321 ;  objects  to  the  ami  inti?jte, 
322;  his  wife's  death,  323; 
sends  Louis  Bordeaux,  358; 
his  son,  381;  brings  Belcourt 
to  Paris,  394;  his  daughter, 
399;  intrigues  with  Madame 
de  Lauraguais,  422;  plots  to 
displace  D'Estr^es,  425;  in 
command  of  the  army,  428; 
"the  Resemblance  and  the 
Difference,"  429;  relations 
with  Madame  de  Lauraguais, 
460;  comforts  the  king,  490; 
502:  at  the  reception  of  Ma- 
dame du  Barry,  504;  laughs 
at  the  king's  superstition,  519 

Richelieu,  Mademoiselle  de,  399 

Riom,  Comte  de,  49 

Riviere-Dufreyny,  31Q  note 

Robecq,  Princess,  396 

Rocoux,  Battle  of,  282 

Rodet,  Mademoiselle  Marie 
Th6r^se,  310 

Rohan,  Cardinal  de,  4 

Rohan,  Chevalier  de,  191 

Rosbach,  Battle  of,  452 


Rosset,  de,  247 

Rotrou,  201 

Roues,  23 

Rouille.  M.  de,  47,  52 

Rousseau,  J.  B.,  197 

Rousseau,  Jean -Jacques,  arri- 
val in  Paris,  238;  musical  sys- 
tem, 238;  his  vanity,  238;  Du- 
pin's  secretary,  239;  calls  on 
Madame  de  Crequy,  240; 
feigned  confidences,  241;  vis- 
its Diderot  in  prison,  347; 
wins  the  prize  of  the  Dijon 
Academy,  348;  offended  with 
Voltaire,  350;  his  manner, 
350;  "  Le  Devin  du  Village" 
performed  before  the  king, 
351;  becomes  the  fashion,  352; 
Diderot's  opinion  of  him,  353; 
his  opinion  of  French  music, 
404;  448;  the  "Nouvelle  H6- 
loise,"  464;  in  the  salon  of  Ma- 
dame d'Epinay,  468;  falls  des- 
perately in  love  with  the  Com- 
tesse  d'Houdetot,  469 ;  his 
"Emile,"  472;  his  "  Contrat 
Social,"  473 ;  his  flight  to 
Switzerland,  474;  his  answer 
to  Voltaire,  474;  goes  to  Eng- 
land, 474;  marries  Th6rese, 
475;  490;  his  death,  531 

Royal  Academy,  43 

Sabatin,  Madame  de,  521 
Sacy,  Louis  de,  34 
Saint-Aulaire,  Marquis  de,   34, 

38,  222 
Sainte-Beuve,  308,  523 
Saint-Florentin,  M.  de,  340,  445 
Saint-Foix,  43,  149 
Saint-George,  Chevalier,  248 
Saint-Germain,  424 
Saint-Lambert,  465,  470,  474 
Saint-Severin,  M.  de,  304 
Saint-Simon,  his  portrait  of  the 

Regent,  27;   88;   an   admirer 

of   Madame    de   Caylus,    99; 

134,  152 
Sainton,  499 
Sall6,  Mademoiselle,  205 


INDEX, 


545 


Sancy,  the.  88  note^xy]^  195 
Sardinia,  King  of,  75 
Sartines,  M.  de,  152,  406 
Sarto,  Andrea  del,  369 
Sauvr6,  Mademoiselle,  198 
Sauvr6,  Marquis  de,  112 
Savoy,   Princesses  of,  507,  515, 

517 
Saxe,  Comte  Maurice  de,  Adri- 
enne  Le  Couvreur's  lover,  198; 
intercedes  for  Madame  de  la 
Poplini6re,  215;  249,  250,  255; 
resumes  command  of  the 
armies,  276;  278,  280:  at 
Rocoux,  282;  the  king  ac- 
knowledges his  services,  285; 
crowned  at  the  opera,  292; 
"Ora  pro  nobis,"  294;  re- 
ceived by  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour, 296;  his  niece  marries 
the  dauphin,  302;  undertakes 
to  conquer  peace,  304;  337, 
349;  his  death,  424;  his  tac- 
tics, 425. 
Saxe,  Marie  Josephe  de,  302,  496 
Saxe-Gotha,  Duchess  of,  468 
Scarron,  92 

Sceaux,  38,  69,  118,  246;  mas- 
querades at,  316;  theatre  at, 

391 

Scud6ry,  Mademoiselle  de,  31, 
123,  317 

S6daine,  353 

S6nez,  Bishop  of,  21 1 

Seven  Years'  War,  357,  385,  478 

S6vign6,  Madame  de,  31,  80 

S6vres,  Porcelaine  de,  481 

Soissons,  Bishop  of,  255 

Soissons,  Hotel,  89 

Solini,  Abb6  de,  435 

Sophie,  Madame,  515 

Sorel,  Agnes,  250 

Soubise,  Prince  de,  his  chef,  100, 
255;  2S0,  421;  compelled  to 
resign,  452;  epigram  on,  454; 
461,  470;  Madame  de  Pom- 
padour's executor,  485 

SoufHot,  248,  338,  364,  369 

Soulavie,  251,  267,  382 

Stael,  Madame  de,  37 


Stahrembcrg,  382,  410 

Stanislaus  Leczinski,  his  daugh- 
ter marries  Louis,  166;  his  re- 
election, 235;  his  escape,  236; 
settles  in  Lorraine,  237;  a  phi- 
losopher, 291;  302;  349  note; 
his  death,  495 

Stanislaus  Poniatowski,  51a 

Sterne,  487 

Sully,  182,  191 

Swift,  Dean,  405 

Tallemant  des  Reaux,  II 

Talleyrand,  529 

Tencin,  Cardinal  de,  248 

Tencin,  Guerin  de,  120,  212 

Tencin,  Hotel,  120 

Tencin,  Madame  de,  amU  in- 
time  of  Dubois,  71;  her 
sa/an,  120;  her  speculations, 
122;  her  writings,  123;  her 
menagerie,  127;  185;  a 
strange  story,  188;  conver- 
sation in  her  sa/on,  208;  de- 
sires to  acknowledge  d'Alera- 
bert,  211;  she  moralizes,  217; 
224;  the  animals  prefer  her 
salon,  243;  intrigues  in  be- 
half of  her  brother,  248;  253; 
opposes  Madame  d'^tioles, 
264;  272,  298;  her  death,  30S; 
her  animals,  309;  320;  patro- 
nizes Helvetius,  332 

Tercier,  M.,446,  448 

Tess6,  Marquis  de,  95 

Theatre  Frangais,  43;  obtains  a 
decreejsilencing  the  Op6ra  Co- 
mique,  53;  a  wrathful  contest, 
405 ; ' '  L'Orph61in  de  la  Chine" 
produce^!  at,  444 

Theatre  Italien,  53 

Thevenard,  202 

Thomas,  M.,  494 

Toulouse,  Comte  de,  his  mar- 
riage, 118;  his  character,  165; 
his  habits,  184;  his  death,  246 

Toulouse,  Comtessede,  118,  164, 
184 

Tournehem,  M.  le  Normand, 
270,  271 


546 


INDEX. 


Tournelle,  Madame  de  la,  250 
Turgot,  345 

Vade,  257 

Valincourt,  M.  de,  36 
Valliere,  Duchesse  de  la,233,284 
Valois,  Mademoiselle  de,  73,  77, 

216 
Vandieres,  Marquis  de,  339 
Vanloo,    Carle,    206,    213;    his 
likenesses,  366;  393;  killed  by 
criticism,  491 
Vanloo,  Michel,  491 
Vauban,  277 
Vaucanson,  272 
Vaudreuil,  Marquis  de,  305 
Vauguyon,  Comte  de,  335,  337 
Vauguyon,  Madame  de  la,  294 
Vauguyon,  M.  de  la,  294 
Vauvenargues,  272 
Vend6me,  Due  de,  474 
Vendome,  Hotel,  89 
Ventadour,  Duchesse  de,  17, 107 
Vermandois,  Mademoiselle  de, 

162 
Vermond,  Abb6  de,  499,  507 
Vernet,  Joseph,  365 
Versailles,  Treaty  of,  410 
Vestris,  Madame,  530 
Victoire,  Madame,  434,  515 
Villars,  Due  de,  387 
Villars,  Marechal  de,  15,  237 
Villemain,  328 
Villeroi,  Madame  de,  139 
Villeroi,  Mar6chal  Due  de,  gov- 
ernor to  the  king,  18,  51;  in- 
troduces the  Czar,  93;  meets 
the  Czar,  95;   Mehemet  and, 
104;  108;  his  devotion  to  Louis, 
no;   116,    133;  his. character, 
134;  his  anxiety,  134;  hisper- 
ruque,  135;  leads  forward  the 
young  king,  136;  is  dismissed, 
138;  167,  179;  his  death,  180; 
199 
Villette,  Marquise  de,  527 
Villette,  M.  de,  527,  530,  531 
Vintimille,  Madame  de,  237,  250 
Voltaire,  25;  his  audacity,  26;  34; 
nursed  by  Adrienne  Le  Couv- 


Voltaire.     ( Continued. ) 

reur,  66;  68,  69;  conquers  con- 
sideration, 69;  Law's  scheme, 
83,90,91;  108,109;  unfortunate 
in  speculation,  122;  125;  com- 
pliments Madame  du  Chatelet, 
125;  his  change  of  name,  127; 
166,  177;  at  the  theatre,  177; 
The  "  Henriade,"  189;  196;  on 
Adrienne  LeCouvreur's death, 
198,  200;  poetical  compli- 
ments, 205;  210;  corresponds 
with  Mademoiselle  Alss6,  225; 
226,  238;  meets  Madame  du 
Chatelet,  241;  257;  at  the  Cha- 
teau d'Etioles,  271;  at  peace 
with  Cr6billon,  272:276;  "  Po- 
6me  de  Fontenoy,"  282;  "La 
Reine  de  Navarre,"  288;  "  Is 
Trajan  satisfied?"  289;  320; 
receives  Madame  deGraffigny, 
324;  330,  332,  348,  350;  Anglo- 
mania,  357;  condoles  with 
Madame  de  Pompadour,  380; 
385 ;  his  jealousy  of  Crebillon, 
386;  goes  to  Potsdam,  388;  "a 
setting  sun,"  389;  391;  advises 
Lekain,  395;  400;  laughs  at 
de  Bernis,  414;  418;  his  igno- 
minious retreat  from  Prussia, 
439;  his  estate,  440;  his  friends, 
440;  his  homage  to  Madame 
du  Bocage,  442;  "  L'Orphfelin 
de  la  Chine,"  444;  447;  tries 
to  read  "Emile,"  473;  offers 
Rousseau  an  asylum,  474;  476, 
488;  kills  Vanloo  with  criti- 
cisms, 491;  512;  prophesies 
a  revolution,  522;  arrives  in 
Paris,  527;  receives  the  ac- 
ademicians, 528;  Lekain's 
death,  528;  his  visitors,  528; 
"Irene,"  529;  crowned,  529; 
his  death,  531 ;  his  burial,  531. 

Vrillifere,  Due  de  La,  521 

Walpole,  443,  488 

Watteau,   decorates    the    Hotel 

Nev^rs,   32;  his  life,   45;  his 

death  46;  205,  206. 


Trainees  Joumeps  Tlbrougb  jf  rance^ 

Being  Impressions  of  the  Provinces.   With  Seven 

Full-page  Illustrations.     i2mo.     $2.50. 

Tk*  Ntw  y'ork  Times:  "  Extremely  interestinjf.  .  . 
M.  Taine  had  the  mind  of  a  philosopher,  and  the  eye  of  an 
artist." 

The  Boston  Transcript:  "  One  who  has  never  visited 
France  will  be  able  to  learn  from  these  brilliant  notes  of 
travel  more  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  people  who  inhabit 
the  various  towns  and  cities,  and  of  the  cities  themselves, 
than  from  any  other  work  with  which  we  are  acquainted.* 

The  Spectator,  London:  "  Full  of  charm  .  .  .  that  which 
makes  it  most  interesting  is  not  the  picturesque  handling 
of  things  external,  so  much  as  the  running  accompaniment 
of  acute  observation  upon  social  conditions  and  charac- 
teristics.*' 

Full  list  0/  Library  Edition  of  Taine ^  free. 

J5a3in'5  Italians  of  xro*S)ai?, 

Translated  by    Wm.    Marchant.     lamo.     $1.25. 

The  Nation:  "  By  an  exceptionally  clever  observer.  .  . 
Quite  an  ideal  book  for  cultivated  readers  whose  tastes  are 
not  particularly  specialized.  Mr.  Bazin  writes  in  an  easy, 
simple,  offhand  style,  with  a  Parisian's  true  sense  of  meas- 
ure, and  never  fails  to  be  interesting.  There  is  not  a  dull 
page  in  the  whole  t>ook.'* 

The  Boston  Transcript:  **  The  translator  has  done  the 
English-speaking  world  a  valuable  service  ...  a  most 
readable  book,  not  only  because  of  its  first-hand  informa- 
tion, .  .  .  but  also  because  of  iu  fair,  free,  and  lucid 
manner  of  relating  what  the  author  has  seen  ...  be 
touches  ufKjn  everything." 

The  Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune:  "  Bubbling  over 
with  good  humor,  information,  comment  that  is  never 
tiresome,  and  description  that  describes  .  .  .  the  book  is  a 
refreshing  one  in  every  way." 

The  Neva  York  Commercial  Advertiser:  "Written 
with  sympathy  and  knowledge  and  with  that  lucidity  of 
style  which  is  a  Frenchman's  birthright  .  .  .  intensely 
readable.** 

Cbcprillon's  f  n  f  uMa, 

Translated   by    Wm.  Marchant.     With  frontis- 
piece.    2d    Edition.      i2mo.     $1.50. 

The  Critic:  "  A  masterpiece  ...  the  book  is  extraor- 
dinary and  the  reading  of  it  a  delight.  Its  style  is  as  fas- 
cinating as  thai  of  Pierre  Loti  or  Lafcadio  Hearn." 

Book  Buyer:  "  No  other  than  a  poet  with  sensibilities 
quickly  responsive  to  every  impression  of  nature,  and  the 
mystery  of  life  dominated  by  the  profoundly  impressive 
reliaions  of  the  Orient,  could  have  written  such  a  book.*' 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  ^'>^^''4tl^' 


Hntbon?  1bope*0  IRomancee 
fn  Bucferam  Series* 

i8mo,  with  Frontispieces,  75  cents  each. 

XS^bc  titieonct  of  ^^enOa,  ^2nd  Edition. 

"  A  glorious  storv,  which  cannot  be  too  warmly  recom- 
mended to  all  who  love  a  tale  that  stirs  the  blood.  Per- 
haps not  the  least  among  its  many  good  qualities  is  the  fact 
that  its  chivalry  is  of  the  nineteenth,  not  of  the  sixteenth, 
century  ;  that  it  is  a  tale  of  brave  men  and  true,  and  of  a 
fair  woman  of  to-day.  The  Englishman  who  saves  the 
king  ...  is  as  interesting  a  knight  as  was  Bayard.  .  .  . 
The  story  holds  the  reader's  attention  from  first  to  last."— 
Critic. 

^be  UnOiscretlon  of  tbe  Ducbesa. 

11  tk  Edition. 
"  Told  with  an  old-time  air  of  romance  that  gives  the 
fascination  of  an  earlier  day;  an  air  of  good  faith,  almost  of 
religious  chivalry,  givees  rality  to  their  extravagance.  .  .  , 
Marks  Mr.  Hope  as  a  wit,  if  he  were  not  a  romancer."— 
Nation. 

B  ^an  of  ^arft.  ^^k  Edition. 

"  More  plentifully  charged  with  humor,  and  the  plot  is 
every  whit  as  original  as  that  of  Zenda  .  .  .  returns  to 
the  entrancing  manner  of  *The  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  .  .  . 
The  whole  game  of  playing  at  revolution  is  pictured  with 
such  nearness  and  intimacy  of  view  that  the  wildest  things 
happen  as  though  they  were  every-day  occurrences.  .  .  . 
Two  triumphs  of  picturesque  description — the  overthrow 
and  escape  of  the  President,  and  the  night  attack  on  the 
bank.  The  charmingly  wicked  Christina  is  equal  to  any- 
thing that  Mr.  Hope  has  done,  with  the  possible  exception 
of  the  always  piquant  Dolly." — Li/e. 

Zbc  DoUg  Dialogues.  9^/^  Edition. 

"  Characterized  by  a  delicious  drollery;  .  .  .  beneath  the 
surface  play  of  words  lies  a  tragi-comedy  of  life.  .  .  . 
There  is  infinite  suggestion  in  every  Wnc.''''— Boston  Tran- 
script. 

B  Cbangc  of  Bfr.  ^th  Edition, 

With  portrait  and  notice  of  the  author. 

"  A  highly  clever  performance,  with  little  touches  that 
recall  both  Balzac  and  Meredith.  ...  Is  endowed  with 
exceeding  originality.  "—iV^w  York  Times. 

Sport  IROSal.  ^th  Edition. 

"His  many  admirers  will  be  happy  to  find  in  these  stories 
full  evidence  that  Anthony  Hope  can  write  short  stories 
fully  as  dramatic  in  incident  as  his  popular  novels."— /'/ItVA- 
dtlphia  Call. 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  ^Tw^ii*^' 


Some  3Boo[?s  about  f  tatu» 
JSa5in'0  Zbe  Italians  of  tTO'das. 

Translated  by  William  Marchant.  An  ac- 
count first  of  the  people,  and  incidentally  of 
the  country,  industries,  economics,  scenery, 
literature,  and   opera.     i2mo. 

fti\kc*B  (3reecc  anO  'Kome. 

Their  Lifk  and  Art.  Translated  by  WiLUAM 
Hand  Browne.  With  over  4CX)  illustrations. 
Quarto.      $10.00. 

Dunt'0  1)f0ton?  of  f  tals. 

Edition  adapted  for  American  Students, 
i6mo.     80  cents  net. 

SBmon&0*  Italian  3Bi2wai?0.    i2mo.   $1.75. 
— 'Rcnai00ancc  in  Italg.    8vo. 

Part  I.  Age  of  Despots.     $2.00. 

Part  II.  The  Revival  of  Learning.     $2.00. 

Part  III.  The  Fine  Arts.     $2.00. 

Part  IV.  Italian  Literature.      With  Portait  of 

Author.     2  vols.     $4.00. 

Part  V.  The  Catholic  Reaction.  2  vols.  $4.00. 

— Sbort  f)i0torB  of  tbc  *Rcnai00ancc. 

i2mo.     $1.75. 

Tlaine'0  Itali?. 

Rome   and    Naples.      Translated    by    John 

DuRAND.     Large  i2mo.     $2.50. 

Florence  and  Venice.      Translated  by  John 

DuRAND.     Large  i2mo.     $2.50. 

— Xccturc0  on  art. 

Second  Series  (containing  the  Philosophy  of 
Art  in  Italy:  the  Philosophy  of  Art  in  the 
Netherlands;  the  Philosophy  of  Art  in  Greece. 
Large  i2mo.     $2.50. 

lDoBnlcb'0  Zhc  (5aDflB. 

A  romance  of  conspiracy.     i2mo.     $1.25. 

"  Eminently  fresh  and  original.  The  author  has  a 
capital  story  to  tell  and  he  tells  it  consummately 
well.  .  .  A  more  striking  story  than  'The  Gadfly' 
has  not  appeared  for  some  Hme.'—New  York  Herald. 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.    ^^-^^ 


New  Tork. 


Tweniy-jifth  Edition  of  a  New  York  hfoDet. 

Zhc  Ibon.  peter  Stirling 

2lnD  wbat  people  tbouQbt  of  bfm. 

By    Paul   Leicester   Ford.       i2mo.       Cloth, 
$1.50. 

TAe  Nation  :  "  Floods  of  light  on  the  raison  d'etre,  ori- 
gin, and  methods  of  the  dark  figure  that  directs  the  desti- 
nies of  our  cities.  .  .  .  So  strongly  imagined  and  logically 
drawn  that  it  satisfies  the  demand  for  the  appearance  of 
truth  in  art.  .  .  .  Telling  scenes  and  incidents  and  de- 
scriptions of  political  organization,  all  of  which  are  literal 
transcripts  of  life  and  fact — not  dry  irrelevancies  thrown  in 
byway  of  imparting  information,  but  lively  detail,  needful 
for  a  clear  understanding  of  Stirling's  progress  from  the 
humble  chairmanship  of  a  primary  to  the  dictator's  throne. 
...  In  the  use  of  dramatic  possibilities,  Mr.  Ford  is  dis- 
creet and  natural,  and  without  giving  Stirling  a  heroic  pose, 
manages  to  win  for  him  very  hearty  sympathy  and  belief. 
Stirling's  private  and  domestic  story  is  well  knit  with  that 
of  his  public  adventures.   ...   A  very  good  novel." 

The  Atlantic  Monthly  :  "Commands  our  very  sincere 
respect  .  .  .  there  is  no  glaring  improbability  about  his 
story  .  .  .  the  highly  dramatic  crisis  of  the  story.  .  .  . 
The  tone  and  manner  of  the  book  are  noble.  ...  A  timely, 
manly,  thoroughbred,  and  eminently  suggestive  book," 

The  Review  of  Reviews  :  "His  relations  with  women 
were  of  unconventional  sincerity  and  depth.  .  .  .  Worth 
reading  on  several  accounts." 

The  Dial :  "One  of  the  strongest  and  most  vital  char- 
acters that  have  appeared  in  our  fiction.  ...  A  very 
charming  love-story.  To  discern  the  soul  of  good  in  so  evil 
a  thing  as  Municipal  politics  calls  for  sympathies  that  are 
not  often  united  with  a  sane  ethical  outlook;  but  Peter 
Stirling  is  possessed  of  the  one  without  losing  his  sense  of 
the  other,  and  it  is  this  combination  of  qualities  that  make 
him  so  impressive  and  admirable  a  figure.  .  .  .  Both  a 
readable  and  an  ethically  helpful  book." 

The  New  York  Tribune :  "  A  portrait  which  is  both 
alive  and  easily  recognizable." 

New  York  Times  :  "  Mr.  Ford's  able  political  novel." 

The  Literary  World:  "  A  fine,  tender  love-story.  .  .  . 
A  very  unusual  but,  let  us  believe,  a  possible  character. 
.  .  .  Peter  Stilring  is  a  mane's  hero.  .  .  .  Very  readable 
and  enjoyable." 

The  Independent:  "Full  of  life.  The  interest  never 
flags.  ...  It  is  long  since  we  have  read  a  better  novel  or 
one  more  thoroughly  and  naturally  American." 

The  Boston  Advertiser :  "Sure  to  excite  attention  and 
win  popularity." 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  ^!,T?^f^rk*' 


Pourth  Edition  of  a  Remarkahte  New  Romance. 
By  E.  L.  VoYNicH.     i2mo,  cloth.    $1.25. 

New  York  Tribune  :  "  He  shows  us  the  veritable  conspir- 
ator of  history,  who  plotted  like  a  human  being  and  not  like 


operatic  bandit.   .    .    It  is  a  thrilling  book  and  absolutely 
'  ""     "    '^y'   is  an  original  s 
.   a  story  to  remember." 


sober.    .    .     'The  Gadfly'   is  an  original  and  impressive  being 


ffew  Vark  Times :  *'  Paradox  worked  up  with  intense 
dramatic  effect  is  the  salient  feature  of  *  The  Gadfly '.  .  . 
shows  a  wonderfully  strong  hand,  and  descriptive  powers 
which  are  rare  ...   a  very  remarkable  romance." 

Tk£  Dial :  **  One  of  the  most  interesting  phases  of 
the  history  of  Nineteenth  Century  Europe.  The  story  of  the 
Italian  revolutionary  movement  ...  is  full  of  such  inci- 
dents as  the  novelist  most  desires  .  .  .  this  novel  is  one  of 
the  strongest  of  the  year,  vivid  in  conception,  and  dramatic 
in  execution,  filled  with  intense  human  feeling,  and  worked 
op  to  a  tremendously  impressive  climax." 

The  Critic  :  "^An  historical  novel  permeated  with  a  deep 
religious  interest  in  which  from  first  to  last  the  story  is  dom- 
inant and  absorbing.  .  .  '  The  Gadfly '  is  a  figure  to  live  in 
the  imagination." 

The  New  Ycrk  Herald:  "  An  exceptionally  clever  story, 
eminently  fresh  and  original.  The  author  has  a  capital  story 
to  tell,  and  he  tells  it  consummately  well.  .  .  The  beaten 
track  has  not  allured  him,  and  the  characters  to  whom  he 
introduces  us  are  not  such  as  we  meet  in  everyday  novels. 
This  is  the  crowning  merit  of  this  book." 

The  Chap  Book :  "  Gives  the  reading  public  an  opportunity 
to  welcome  a  new  and  intense  writer  ...  a  profound  psycho- 
logical study  ...  a  powerful  climax.  Yet,  however  much 
the  imagination  be  used,  the  author  will  be  found  to  rise  be- 

Sond  it;  the  scene  at  High  Mass  on  the  feast  of  Corpus  Christi 
eing  one  of  the  most  powerful  in  English  fiction." 

Tke  Independent:  "  We  have  read  this  peculiar  romance 
with  breathless  interest  ...  a  romance  of  revolutionary  ex- 
periences in  Italy;  lifelike,  stirring,  picturesque,  a  story  of 
passion,  sacrifice,  and  tragic  energy." 

The  Literary  World:  "A  powerful  and  picturesque 
story — a  canvas  glowing  with  color  and  life — the  few  striking 
characters  stand  out  in  firm,  resolute  outlines.  We  heartily 
commend  '  The  Gadfly.*  " 

The  Buffalo  Commercial :  "  In  every  way  sharp,  thrilling, 
entertaining." 

The  Chicago  Post:  "A  powerful  story,  and,  unlike  others 
of  its  kind,  holds  the  reader*s  attention  strictly  to  the  end." 

The  Chicago  Times-Herald:  '"The  Gadfly'  is  a  tre- 
mendous story.  It  goes  on  like  a  whirlwind,  gathering  force 
as  it  rushes." 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  ^^^k"^ 


Second  Edition  of  a  Brilliant  tVork. 

Social  ]rorce0  in 

German  Xiterature* 

By  Professor  Kuno  Francke.  8vo.   $2.00  net. 

A  critical,  philosophical,  and  historical  account  of 
German  literature  that  is  "destined  to  be  a  standard 
work  for  both  professional  and  g:eneral  uses  "(^Dial\ 
and  that  has  been  translated  in  Germany.  The 
author's  style  is  clear  and  sympathetic.  He  begins 
with  the  sagas  of  the  fifth  century  and  ends  with 
Hauptmann's  mystical  play  "  Hannele"  (1894). 

New  York  Tribune:  "  A  rapid  and  penetrating  re- 
view of  a  whole  national  literature.  .  .  It  is  difficult 
to  see  how  it  loses  any  of  its  value  for  the  learned  by 
its  capacity  to  interest  every  thoughtful  and  catholic 
reader  of  European  literature.  .  .  He  responds  not 
only  to  the  past,  but  to  the  present,  and  in  all  rela- 
tions he  is  human.  .  .  Professor  Francke  individual- 
izes each  period  of  which  he  treats.  He  makes  it  real; 
it  would  hardly  be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  he  en- 
dows it  with  something  like  a  human  personality.  .  . 
It  is  surprising,  with  the  limited  space  at  his  com- 
mand, how  many  men— poets,  dramatists,  preachers, 
essayists,  philosophers,  literary  reformers— from  the 
time  of  Otf  ried  to  that  of  Heine,  he  has  made  personal, 
individual,  distinct." 

The  Hon.  Andrew  D.  White,  ex-President  of  Cornell 
University:  "A  noble  contribution  to  the  history  of 
civilization,  and  valuable  not  only  to  students  of  Ger- 
man literature,  but  to  all  who  are  interested  in  the 
progress  of  our  race." 

The  Nation  :  "  The  range  of  vision  is  comprehen- 
sive, but  the  details  are  not  obscure.  The  splendid 
panorama  of  German  literature  is  spread  out  before 
us  from  the  first  outburst  of  heroic  song  in  the  dim 
days  of  the  migrations,  down  to  the  latest  disquieting 
productions  of  the  Berlin  school.  .  .  The  frequent 
departures  from  the  orthodox  estimates  are  the  result 
of  the  new  view-point.  They  are  often  a  distinct  ad- 
dition to  our  knowledge." 

Professor  Friedrich  Paulsen  of  the  University  of 
Berlin  :  "  It  is  neither  a  dry  summary  nor  a  weari- 
some attempt  to  include  every  possible  fact.  .  .  It 
puts  the  reader  in  the  center  of  the  vital  movements  of 
the  time.  .  .  One  often  feels  as  if  the  authors  treated 
addressed  themselves  personally  to  him;  the  discourse 
coming  not  through  bygone  dead  books,  but  rather 
through  living  men." 

National  Observer  and  British  Review:  "Altogether 
the  best  book  of  its  kind  that  has  appeared  in  Ger- 
many, or  out  of  it,  for  a  very  long  time." 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  ^'SjSJS."* 


flew  £ooli0. 


mik 


The  PublUkers'  Nrw  (  Se^t.)  Catalogve 
0/  their  Books  in  Gbnekal  Litkkatukk, 
tncluding  History^  Philosophy^  Biogra- 
phy.  Travels,  Fin*  A rts,Critictsm,  Poetry, 
Fiction,  etc.,  etc.,  free  on  application  to 
99  W.  -ii^d Street,  Netu  York. 

(Tbc  flon-'ReUafon  of  tbc  future. 

A  Sociological  Study.     By  M.  Guyau.     8vo, 
$3.00. 

Though  based  on  vast  learning  and  exhibiting  profound 
thought,  this  book  is  "  easy  reading."  It  maintains  that  reli- 
gion, so  far  as  it  is  not  an  emotion,  and  so  far  as  it  is  a  mass  of 
truth,  is  a  symbolic  accounting  for  truths  discovered  by  our 
ancestors,  and  that  this  symbolic  accounting  is  disappeariti^ 
as  science  more  and  more  occupies  the  field.  The  author  indi- 
cates the  future  of  society  when  science  shall  entirely  occupy 
that  portion  of  the  field  hitherto  occupied  by  religion. 

^ournes6  tTbrougb  prance. 

Being   Impressions  of   the    Provinces.     By 
H.  A.Taine.  111.   Library  Ed.  i2mo,  $2.50. 

"  He  takes  his  readers  all  over  France,  from  Brittany,  with 
its  Catholic  peasantry,  to  the  Nord  with  its  calm  Flemish 
population  ...  at  Strasbourg  one  can  incidentally  see  how 
struck  Taine  was  with  the  German  temperament  in  Alsace. 
...  To  the  student  and  the  traveler  the  book  is  equally  at- 
tractive .  .  .  the  impressions  of  the  great  philosopher  of  the 
people  which  he  knew  better  than  any  of  his  countrymen." — 
London  Athenteunt. 

%M   List  of  Library  Edition  of  Taine  on  application. 

XTbe  Bvolution  of  tbe  Br^an. 

By  Rudolph  von  Ihering.     Translated  from 
the  German  by  A.  Drucker,  M.  P.    8vo,  $3.00 
mt,  special. 
A  study  which,  while  paying  due  attention   to  linguistical 
methods  of  establishing  the  Aryan  descent,  is  particularly  full 
with  regard  to  pertinent  historical  facts  and  customs.     The 
seven  "books"  of  this  volume  cover.  The  Aryan  Parent- 
Nation,  Aryans  and  Semites,  Emigration  of  the  Aryans, 
The  Wandering,  The  Second  Home,  Origin  of  the  Euro- 
fiean  Nations,  Difference  of  the  European  Nations 

Z\iZ  Bvolution  of  tbc  f  dca  of  (5o&. 

An    Inquiry   into   the   Origin    of   Religion.     By 

Grant    Allen,     Author    of    "  Physiologic^ 

.Esthetics,  "  "  The  Color  Sense,"  etc.8vo,$3.oo 

"  This  work  contains,  I   believe,  the   first  extended  effort 

that  has  yet  been  made  to  trace  the  genesis  of  the  belief  in  a 

God  from  its  earliest  origin  in  the  mind  of  primitive  man  up 

to  its  fullest  development  in  advanced  and  etherealized  Chris* 

tian  theoli^y."— jRriww  the  Pre/tue. 


Ibenr^  ibolt  d  (To/s  1Rew  Boofta* 

^be  irtaUans  of  ^osDag. 

By     Renie    Bazin.      Translated    by    William 

Marchant.     i2mo,  $1.25. 
An  account  first  of  the  people,  and  incidentally  of 

the    country,    industries,   economics,   scenery, 

literature,  and  opera. 

Some  (Questions  of  600D  Bnalfsb. 

Examined  in  Controversies  with  Dr.  Fitz- 
EDWARD  Hall.  By  Ralph  O.  Williams, 
author  of  Our  Dictionaries  and  Other 
English  Language  Topics.     i2mo,    $1.75. 

"A  volume  of  practical  interest,  marked  throughout  by 
fairness  in  criticism." — Prof.  T.  JH.  Hunt  of  Princeton. 
*'  Bright  and  suggestive." — Review  of  Reviews.  "  Invari- 
ably readable  and  abounds  in  curious  illustrations." — Outlook. 

Zhz  IFslanD  of  Cuba* 

By  Lieut.  A.  S.  Rowan,  U.  S.  A.,  and  Prof.  M. 

M.  Ramsay.     With  Maps,  Index,  and  Points 

of  International  Law.    2d  Edition.  i2mo,  $1.25. 

"  Excellent  and  timely,  a  clear  and  judicial  account  of  Cuba 

and  its  history." — The  Dial.     "  Conveys  just  the  information 

needed  at  this  time." — Philadelphia  Times. 

^elepatbs  atiD  tbe  Subliminal  Self. 

By  Dr.  R.  Osgood  Mason.     Hypnotism,  Autom- 
atism, Dreams,  and  Phantasms.     With  frontis- 
piece.    2d  Edition.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
"  He  repudiates  the  idea  of  the  supernatural  altogether,  and 
in  this  he  is  in  accord  with  the  best  thought  of  the  day  .   .  . 
interesting  and  logical." — Boston  Transcript. 

Social  jforces  in  0erman  Xiterature. 

By  Prof.  KuNO  Francke.  7.d  Edition.  8vo, 
$2.00  net.    Has  been  translated  into  German. 

"  I  must  confess  that  I  have  not  read  any  other  History  of 
Literature  which  so  strongly  inclined  me  to  take  up  the 
authors  myself.  It  is  neither  a  dry  summary  nor  a  wearisome 
attempt  to  include  every  possible  fact,  nor  does  it  abound  in 
affected  literary  criticisms,  or  historical  reflections  about  mat- 
ters of  course,  but  it  puts  the  reader  in  the  center  of  the  vital 
movements  of  the  time.  One  often  feels  as  though  the 
authors  treated  of  addressed  themselves  personally  to  him; 
the  discourse  coming  not  through  bygone  dead  books,  but 
rather  throueh  living  men." — Professor  Friedrich  Paulsen 
of  Berlin. 

Unternational  ^Bimetallism, 

By  Francis  A.  Walker,     -^id  Edition.     $1.25. 
_  "  An  elaborate  study  of  bimetallism  from  the  first  bimetal- 
list  in  the  United  States,  and  there  is  not  a  syllable  in  it  that 
is  favorable  to  the   free,  unlimited,  and  independent  coinage 
of  silver  by  the  United  States." — Christian  Register. 


Bnimal  Spmbollem  In 
Ccclcelaatlcal  Ercbltccture* 

BY  E.  P>  EVANS, 

With  a  Bibliography  and  Seventy-eight  Il- 
lustrations.   l2mo.    Buckram.     $2.00  net, 

Hon.  Andrew  D.  IVhite,  in  Popular  Science  Monthly: 
•*  Not  only  learned  but  interesting.  .  .  Will  not  only 
prove  profitable  to  scholars  but  attractive  to  the  gen- 
eral reader.  Many  a  ponderous  and  voluminous  work 
on  mediaeval  history  and  art,  reauiring  months  for 
its  study,  is  really  far  less  valuaole  than  this  little 
book.  .  .  Valuable  not  only  to  the  student  of  art  and 
literature,  but  to  everyone  who  wishes  to  penetrate 
the  meanings  of  history  in  general." 

The  Dial :"  A.  very  interesting  book,  and  a  very 
amusing  one,  too.  .  .  Has  an  immense  amount  of  ex- 
ample and  illustration  which  will  be  useful  to  the 
scholar,  while  it  is  a  perfect  mine  of  entertainment  to 
the  more  cursory  reader.  We  cannot  begin  to  give  an 
Idea  of  the  variety  of  quaint  interpretation  and  singu- 
lar allegory  to  be  found  in  the  work.  It  is  an  ex- 
tremely entertaining  volume,  besides  being  valuable, 
and  will  doubtless  open  to  many  entirely  new  sources 
of  interest." 

The  Churchman  :  "The  book  is  a  popular  treatise, 
and  yet  the  exhaustive  index  makes  it  suitable  for  ref- 
erence, and  the  comprehensive  bibliography  renders 
it  but  the  foundation  for  those  who  would  rise  higher 
in  the  study  of  ecclesiastical  art." 

Boston  Transcript :  "This  remarkably  interesting 

Architecture  and  Building':  "  His  curious  and  en- 
tertaining monograph.  He  has  so  industriously  col- 
lected the  material  tor  his  work,  and  prepared  it  with 
so  much  judgment,  that  the  student  can  follow  his 
story  of  this  development  with  unflagging  interest 
and  pleasure." 

Book  Buyer:  "  Crowded  with  knowledge,  the  book 
is  yet  as  entertaining  as  a  fairy  tale,  while  its  ethical 
conclusions  are  not  the  less  insistent  for  being  tacit." 

Reginald  Hughes,  in  the  Academy:  "A  perfect 
treasure-house  of  information  .  .  .  written  in  a 
spirited  and  vivacious  style.  .  .  His  work  is  extremely 
well  done." 

Dr.  Borinski,  of  Munich  University,  in  the  Allge- 
meine  Zeitung:  "An  instructive  and  interesting 
book." 

Die  Nation :  "  Written  in  a  condensed  but  very 
pleasing  style  ...  of  works  of  this  class  there  is 
hardly  one  that  deserves  to  be  so  highly  recom- 
mended."   

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  "I^S^I^i*  • 


*' The  best  biography  of  Sheridan    in   existence." 
— Review  of  Reviews. 

IRlcbart)  Brlnelei?  Sberlbam 

A  Biography.  By  W.  Fraser  Rae.  With  an 
Introduction  by  Sheridan's  great-grandson,  the 
Marquess  of  Dufferin  and  Ava.  With  repro- 
ductions of  portraits  by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds, 
Gainsborough,  Russell,  and  Hoppner,  facsimiles 
of  letters,  etc.     2  vols.     8vo.     $7.00. 

The  Atlantic  Monthly  :  '*  He  seems  to  us  to  have  routed 
Sheridan's  detractors  all  along  the  line,  and  we  are  glad  to 
believe  that  this  biography  is  final.  Politics  and  the  drama 
aside,  Sheridan's  life  is  still  of  great  interest.  His  courtship 
of  the  beautiful  singer  of  Bath,  his  brilliant  wit,  his  close 
friendships  with  the  greatest  men  of  his  time,  and  the  lights 
and  shadows  of  his  career  make  a  story  of  romantic  and  hu- 
man interest." 

Professor  Brander  Matthews  in  The  Bookman  :  "All  un- 
prejudiced readers  are  now  for  the  first  time  enabled  to  see  the 
man  as  he  really  was." 

The  Dial :  "  A  substantial  addition  to  history  and  litera- 
ture. .  .  He  has  told  the  romantic  and  diversified  story  of 
Sheridan's  career  well  and  temperately.  .  .  His  book  at  once 
takes  its  place  as  the  standard  one  on  the  subject — the  one  in 
which  the  real  Sheridan,  as  contradistinguished  from  the  half- 
mythical  Sheridan  of  previous  memoirs,  is  portrayed  with  all 
attainable  clearness.  To  release  this  brilliant  and  singularly 
winning  and  human  figure  from  the  region  of  largely  calum- 
nious fiction  was  a  worthy  task." 

The  Nevj  York  Tribune  :  "  A  marvelously  ingenious  and 
deft  piece  of  biographical  narration,  .  .  Mr.  Rae  has  told  a 
full  and  interesting  story,  and  told  it  well." 

The  New  York  Herald:  "  Of  interest  to  all  general  read- 
ers, and  of  value  to  all  those  who  desire  an  exact  picture  of 
one  of  the  most  original  and  commanding  figures  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  There  is  much,  however,  about  Sheri- 
dan's life  which  the  well-informed  reader  does  not  know,  and 
which  he  will  never  know  unless  he  reads  these  volumes,  and 
surely  time  spent  in  this  way  is  not  lost.  Few  books  of  the 
season  can  compare  with  it  as  regards  value  and  interest." 

The  New  York  Dramatic  Mirror  :  "An  impartial  life  of 
Sheridan  has  long  been  needed,  and  the  new  two-volume 
biography  by  W.  Fraser  Rae  would  seem  to  satisfy  that 
need.  .  .  Sheridan  the  man,  the  dramatist,  the  statesman,  is 
vividly  and  sympathetically  pictured." 


HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  «S,TI??iS'' 


I\ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 
Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  priod  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

REC'D  LP    -^^^     9 -^-10  AM 7    3 


fftC'DLD   JUN    9  72 -10  AM 7  J 


APR  08  ir  9 


LD21A-60to-8,'70 
(N88378l0)476 — A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


f^6'2'<i>  ^^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


